Twice Upon A Time
by Brette Stallings
Summary: A chance meeting brings together a pair of identical twins, separated at birth, and they begin plotting to reunite their long estranged parents.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**: This is another one of those stories that I've had the idea of writing for a long, long time and sat down tonight and actualized it. I really am excited to hear what my loyal and fabulous readers have to say about this storyline - and I'll be holding my breath to hear what you think…(hint, hint!)

_**Gone With the Wind is the intellectual property of the great Margaret Mitchell and no infringement is intended.**_

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Scarlett is going to die today. Or yesterday, perhaps. Perhaps she had been dead a week and they had not bothered to send him another telegram, thinking that the urgent brevity of the last one would have been enough to get him back to Atlanta with little to no delay. It had been a week from that Sunday. He had been at a gambling house in New Orleans when the note had been delivered to his poker table: "Scarlett has begun her labor. It looks very bad. Please come immediately. Faithfully yours, A. Wilkes." Faithfully his. That meant nothing at all to Rhett, Ashley Wilkes's faithfulness. Perhaps Scarlett was already dead. The baby along with her.

Their house was on Peachtree Street, about three miles from the train station. If his train was on time at two o'clock, he could expect to be there by about two fifteen at the latest. He wouldn't wait for his bags. He didn't need any bags. He'd see if she had lived or died, and if it was the latter he'd stay for the vigil and the funeral and come back to New Orleans the following night. He had asked Julian, once his ward, now a man grown at twenty-five, to come to Atlanta if he had been gone from the city for two days and had sent no instruction. Julian rarely traveled anywhere it was not in his business's interest to do so, but there was no way he would have refused a request such as that. But he wouldn't be too happy about it. Even if Scarlett and her child really did die, he might offer the excuse: "But she's not _my_ mother. Her child is not _my _sister or brother." Rhett shook his head. Julian would say no such thing. He would offer his condolences, then appear at Rhett's side for moral support while he signed away guardianship of Wade Hampton and Ella over to Ashley or to Will and Suellen or to whoever would have them. He couldn't look at them and endure their misplaced love and affection. Couldn't face Ashley after he said that yes, Scarlett was dead, and now Wade and Ella were his responsibility. They certainly were not his. And he didn't have anything to apologize for, not taking up the mantle of their care. Wade would be fourteen or fifteen this year as it was; he had people to take him. And although Ella had none, she was growing to be pretty enough. She possessed enough of Scarlett's charm to surely render her an attractive adult; some man would fall in love with those flashing green eyes and charming smile, gifts from Scarlett. He'd be damned if he spent the rest of his life looking into those eyes, knowing that he and he alone had killed their original owner.

His driver was waiting, as instructed, at exactly two o'clock, when he disembarked from the train. For now, it seemed that Scarlett wasn't dead. That he was just coming back to town for a visit, for propriety's sake and nothing more. People waved at him and shouted his name in the streets, aloud and beneath their breaths murmuring that Captain Butler was in Atlanta once more. And they all knew why he was back. Once he had run away in fear and hurt and resolution that Scarlett would never again hold the upper hand over him, even if he had to divorce her in order to free himself from her spell.

Run he had; from Charleston to New York, from Philadelphia and back to New Orleans, where he had taken up a semi-permanent residence for the past three years…or was it four? It hurt his head to remember. But remember he did, a visit in particular which had brought him back to Atlanta for the occasion of Scarlett's birthday, eight months prior. It had been a good long while since he had made an appearance, and what better time to do it? A week's stay, just long enough to keep the gossip down and appear a loving and adoring husband. After all, they had bought his story of a year's worth of business in South America hook, line, and sinker - why shouldn't they believe that he'd be gone for another year, two if he was lucky. He remembered the weather being inordinately hot. He had eaten at Belle's, as usual. All the girls had been happy to see him, and Belle had felt sorry for him, saying, "You doan' need ter be fixin' yer head on her, hun." When he had left, Belle had walked him to the door and given him a big kiss on the lips, for old times sake. He was distracted because he had not seen Scarlett in over a year, and was unsure how his body and his heart would react to seeing her again. Belle had reassured him that she appeared, at least outwardly, happy as can be, and was filling her days with preparations for a very large birthday soiree. She had invited people from Charleston, from Clayton County, and even her brother-in-law and sister from Tara and their children. He remembered leaving Belle's and running into Ashley Wilkes outside of the cigar shop. Ashley had mumbled excuses for several moments, saying something about needing to purchase cigars for the party and that he was very happy to see Rhett and so on and so forth.

Rhett did not hear the rest of Ashley's words, probably due to all the rushing around, the glare of the sun in the summer sky, and the people chattering around them. He walked the length of the street, past Kennedy's Emporium, and rounded the corner onto Peachtree Street. He was greeted by Mrs. Meade, the Doctor's wife, who was passing by, her hands filled with a basket of knitting-related materials. She stopped him to ask if he had been traveling for a long while, and he answered her yes, just so as not to say anything else too revealing.

His house was at the end of the street, which he walked without feeling the effects of the exercise overmuch. He wanted to see Scarlett right away, despite all the warning bells going off in his head advising him against that very thing. But the maid - was her name Pansy? - said that he had to wait, that Miss Scarlett was detained with the other ladies in the Sewing Circle, who were meeting for the next hour and a half. He asked then if he could at least, as master of the house, albeit long absent, see his stepchildren. Both were at school, the maid had answered, so he waited awhile longer in the foyer, listening to the hushed chatter of women behind closed doors. After about half an hour, the door opened and some of them left. Scarlett stood up from her chair and stood in the doorway of the parlor and stared at him with her clear green eyes. Then, the other ladies filed out one by one, exchanging curious glances as they passed him by, greeting him with strained courteous salutations and then returning to their hushed conversations regarding his whereabouts as of the past year. And he was left alone, finally, with Scarlett. She grabbed hold of his hands held them so long he didn't know how to free them.

"It's been so long," she said. "I've missed you so much."

He had thought that she was in the beginnings of one of her theatrical performances, another trick to win him back into her bed and heart. But she cut off any speech on his part. "You don't have to tell me where you've been or why, my darling. I understand completely. And the truth of the matter is, I've been doing mighty good here. And Wade and Ella too, although, they were so happy when I told them you'd be coming. Wade Hampton'll be fifteen next January, if you can believe that."

He had said, "Is that so?"

And she added, "Yes, and Beau'll be thirteen in September. They'll both be off to school together in Virginia, just as Ashley was, when Wade turns sixteen, and Beau a little younger than that. He'll be able to study law then, just as he always wanted. You must be proud of him, Rhett, and tell him how good he is. He'd like to hear it from you."

It was true. Wade had always been a good boy. When he had lived there, Wade had spent a lot of time following Rhett around, never saying a thing, but watching all. That was partly why he hadn't lingered overmuch after he had left the first time. Wade and Ella weren't used to his absence from their lives. Although different men had fathered either child, they had known only him.

Scarlett spoke again, although he wasn't really listening anymore. Then she said, "I suppose you'd like to see them, when they get home from school." He followed her, not saying a word as she led the way to the front door and down the walk towards the road. Surely Scarlett O'Hara had not taken to waiting for her children at the gate?

As she had probably known already, Wade and Ella were coming up the walk, followed by Beau Wilkes and a small chattering group of youngsters he did not recognize offhand. As they observed him standing next to their mother, their chattering immediately ceased. It was Beau Wilkes who noticed him first, stopping in front of the gate and jabbering like a parakeet, "That's my Uncle Rhett!"

Wade stuttered a little, his voice deeper than Rhett had recalled, "Hello, Uncle Rhett."

Rhett had answered, "Hello, son."

Beau had continued talking more loudly than any of the others and asked, with a confidence that Wade did not possess, "Are you staying for Aunt Scarlett's party?"

Rhett had every intention of responding in the affirmative, but, in spite of himself answered the boy, "No."

Ella found her voice first and asked, "You don't want to?"

And Rhett had shaken his head and answered, "No."

And the children were quiet and Rhett was embarrassed because he felt that he should never have said that, particularly to them. Ella looked right at him and asked, "Why not?" but without any criticism in her voice, as though she had just wanted to know.

Rhett had replied, "I can only stay the night." He then had started twirling his mustache, and then without looking at him, Scarlett said, both to him and to the children, "I understand."

His mind replayed the scene over and over again when he recalled the day, particularly that night, when, in a moment which could only be termed temporary insanity, he had taken Scarlett in his arms and made love to her. And she had responded in kind, a willing recipient of his embrace. And he had left, as promised, the next day, not thinking overmuch about his lamentable lapse in judgment until he received that first telegram from her the second week of September. She stated very simply: "I am with child. Please come home."

He opened and shut his eyes before opening them again, as if seeing the face of Dr. Meade for the first time. "As usually is the case, Captain Butler," the old man was saying, "I am compelled to ask you if, if it should come to it, if the life of the child should be second in the case of Scarlett's immanent peril?"

Rhett blinked again. "Has it come to that?"

He knew that it had. She had written him over three months before that it had been a hard, long, difficult pregnancy fraught with various scares. She had been in bed since the fifth month in and she was frightened that she was going to die bringing the child into the world. His child. His mistake.

Dr. Meade nodded. "I just wanted to let you know." Rhett thanked him. While not an atheist, Rhett had never in his adult life given a thought to religion, but in that moment, he prayed to God or whichever entity might hear him for Scarlett to live, with or without her baby. His baby. The thought of it tugged so at his chest, the act of responsibility for putting her in this position at all - the thought of the baby seemed very small when set against the idea of forever losing her.

"You can go in now," Dr. Meade said, "I think she's been waiting for you, Captain Butler."

Rhett went in. Her room had undergone a serious redecoration since he had visited it last. It was all done up in white, with a white bedspread and white curtains of damask. The fact that it was done up so did not bode well in his mind - as though Scarlett had pictured Heaven in her mind and designed her earthly quarters accordingly. His poor, brave Scarlett, left to die alone for his folly. Near the bed was Mammy, her head covered with a white kerchief, which contrasted with the severity of her black dress.

Just then, Ashley Wilkes came in behind him. He must have been running. "Mammy, if you'll check her temperature, Dr. Meade wished it to be checked every hour." He was moving toward the big bed when Rhett stopped him. He said, "I've been here all this time." Rhett answered, "I'm here now." Ashley was quiet then, and Rhett felt slightly guilty as the other man shuffled to the back of the room and out the door, shutting it behind him.

"Scarlett?" he asked, as though posing the question to no one in particular.

"Mist' Rhett, she bad off," Mammy said, wiping a tear from her eye. "Howcum you doan' come soona' Mist' Rhett?"

Then, Mammy walked towards the door and exited the room, leaving Rhett alone to face the pale figure in the bed.

At some point, Dr. Meade walked in and said to him, "She had some unusually strong bleeding. And I'm sure that you can see the swelling for yourself." Rhett didn't understand, then, so he looked over Dr. Meade's head and saw that Scarlett's stomach was swollen to unnatural proportions, far more than she had been with either Bonnie or Ella. She had a wet cloth wrapped around her head just below her eyes. All he could make out of her face was that it was the same color as the cloth.

Finally, Dr. Meade said, "I'll leave the two of you alone." The room was filled with the late afternoon sunlight, further illuminating the whiteness of her face. As he held her hand, he felt that her very skin was stretched paper thin. How? How much more could she endure?

He said to Dr. Meade when he came back again, "Have you been here long?"

The doctor answered, "For the past several months she has been bedridden. I suspect that the culprit is the second of the infants, pressing on her abdomen and causing all the trouble. But we'll have to see if she's strong enough to deliver either."

After that, he did quite a bit of talking, none of which really registered with Rhett. He only knew that his folly -for it could be termed as nothing else- had saddled Scarlett with twins, the carrying of whom was slowly killing her. He was almost fifty years old. What man was siring children at the age of fifty?

Once, Scarlett screamed out, and Rhett thought that it was the end of him. She was clearly, distinctly yelling his name. She called for him, again and again and he sat, helpless, watching as that unnaturally swollen belly contorted with the pain of labor. And again, she began her struggle. He sat helpless as Mammy pulled back the sheet, revealing swollen ankles that were not Scarlett's own. His heart rested in his throat, as Dr. Meade yelled for someone to call a priest. Scarlett was screaming that she could not see, and Mammy had to leave the room for a moment or two, looking up to the heavens and calling down the healing power of God and her own Miss Ellen to help. And Rhett just sat there, periodically holding Scarlett's hand, but largely remaining in the back of the bedroom. Suddenly, she began to convulse, and he could look at her and know it was the end. Dr. Meade yelled something to Mammy, who screamed, and Rhett fled the room, like a child. He fell to his knees in the middle of the hallway, thinking that there had to be no greater agony in all the world.

Just then, Wade and Ella were next to him, holding either hand. Night had abruptly fallen over the city of Atlanta and darkness overtook the cityscape. Mammy stuck her head out to tell Wade and Ella to walk over to Beau's for dinner. Neither were hungry, but both went without complaint. At one point, Ashley Wilkes walked in and offered to bring Rhett coffee. He said yes mechanically, and Ashley returned after several minutes with a steaming pot and two cups. Rhett offered the other man a cigar, and they both smoked, in silence. Finally, he left, and Rhett felt himself getting drowsy, even with the coffee. A scream awoke him, around five thirty in the morning. Scarlett's scream. Like the sound of a dying animal taking it's last breath. And Mammy came into the hallway, a tiny bundle wrapped in her strong black arms, swaddled in a white blanket. Tears were falling down her thick cheeks. "S'dead, Mist' Rhett. Po' Miss Scarlett. Havin's done kilt her." Rhett stuck out his arms without a word, if only to take a look at the child who had killed Scarlett.

"Get back to Miss Scarlett, Mammy," he heard himself say. The old black head nodded, and he heard the door shut. So, Scarlett was dead. He had killed her after all. From somewhere in the depths of his mind, he watched as two more maids with white aprons hurried into the bedchamber. It didn't matter now. Scarlett was dead, the child along with her. He pulled back the blanket, thinking that the child in his arms would be monstrously ill-formed, a mirror of his own bad character. But it was not so - it was perfectly formed, with dusky pink skin and a head of jet black hair. His child. His and Scarlett's child. It could have only been sleeping. He rubbed a large hand over the chest of the infant as he held it, thinking that if he listened hard enough, perhaps he could detect a heartbeat. He felt none.

Hot tears spilled down his face as he struggled in vain to detect a heartbeat. Another perfect, precious child lost. All because of him. Suddenly, a rustling in his hands stirred him, and the stark light of dawn seemed to shine through the stained glass windows even brighter than before. And then, he looked down, and the baby's tiny fists were pumping in the air. It made no cry, so it was hard for him to believe that it even was real. But there it was, moving in his arms, a living breathing product of his body.

Soon, he heard someone within the chamber begin to cry, softly and in little sobs. So Scarlett was dead. And they all thought his child dead. He imagined sitting vigil over Scarlett in her coffin, being lowered into the ground. Good God, no! Scarlett could not be dead. Somehow, if he did not see it, it would not be so. And, he looked down, if only to reassure himself, he had his child. Their child. The child Scarlett had died giving to him. Wade and Ella would be fine, he thought as he backed out of the hallway and down the staircase, cradling the child in his arms.

And yet, he kept on crying, as if he was committing some monstrous betrayal. "No," he reassured himself, "I just cannot be here when they tell me Scarlett is dead."

He nearly ran into Pork, the old butler and valet and hastily clutched the bundle to his chest when the old man cried out, "Mist' Rhett, sure you ain't leavin'?"

And Rhett said, "Leave me alone, old man! Leave me and my child alone!"

And Pork shook his head, mumbled something, and then went on crying as before.

Rhett retreated to his carriage, his driver still waiting, as bidden. He sat down in the cabin and slammed the door, ordering, "Take me to the depot immediately. And find me the best darkie wetnurse in the country. We're going to Charleston today. Then to Europe and away from here."

**. . . .**

Scarlett woke up because her back and middle were hurting more and more. She could hear Mammy's sobs quieting after awhile. She sniffled several more times before finally quieting. Finally, she realized that she was coming out of a faint. She glanced down at her swollen middle and hoped beyond hope that if Rhett had made it, he had not seen her this way. Please God, she thought to herself, let him have come.

"Scarlett," Dr. Meade leaned over and spoke to her. He sat down next to Scarlett and after a long pause, began to explain what had happened, "As I had begun to suspect, Scarlett, you were carrying twins. Only one of them survived. But she is, as far as I can tell, perfectly healthy."

"My baby?" she said weakly.

"A girl." Dr. Meade clarified for her, "A very healthy girl."

"Rhett?"

Dr. Meade looked up at Mammy, who was holding her apron up to her face, as if some understanding had passed between them.

"He's not here, Scarlett."

She was tired, so tired that she fell asleep then, not awakening for several hours. When she finally did, she was met by Ashley, his face ashen from the uncomfortable vigil at her side.

"Ashley?"

"How do you feel, Scarlett?"

"Pretty terrible. How's my baby, Ashley?"

"She's beautiful, Scarlett. Just beautiful. She's going to be just fine, and so are you."

She noticed that he was dressed in black.

"Did you …did you think we wouldn't be?"

Ashley took her hand. "I never lost faith, Scarlett."

"Ashley? Did you see my other baby? The one that died?"

He nodded. "She was sleeping peacefully, Scarlett. She didn't suffer."

After that, he told her that she needed to keep resting, that he would have Mammy bring the baby for her to hold later and she thanked him. He told her that Rhett had been and left, leaving out such small details as Rhett's extreme grief and the point in her labor at which he had left. He then said that Wade and Ella were fine, and at his house with Beau, having had held vigil for most of the night.

"It's probably best that Rhett is gone, Scarlett," Ashley said. "I'm sure that you understand, my dear."

Scarlett didn't respond for quite some time, and Ashley stood up and kissed her cheek. She looked out the window of her bedroom. A moment later she said, "Yes Ashley, I'm sure that it's best."

Then, he warned her that it would be a month at most before she was sufficiently healed. He left the room and left her to her grief. Tears of frustration and exhaustion streamed down her face. How could Rhett abandon his child, his baby girl? She closed her eyes and let sleep overtake her, thinking that at the very least, she had his child, and she would love her better than life, whether Rhett wanted her or not.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note**: Thanks so very much to those of you who have very kindly reviewed. Helen spotted where this story is [loosely] headed; although, I hope that it'll be quite an interesting journey.

Read on, and review! ;)

_**Gone With the Wind is the intellectual property of the great Margaret Mitchell and no infringement is intended.**_

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Rhett was exhausted by the time he was finally settled on the Charleston bound train and was able to clean up a little. He had requested another pot of coffee to be brought to his compartment, which helped stave off the exhaustion for the time being. The young doctor who was already aboard the train had been intercepted by Rhett's valet, and given a sizeable wad of cash to pull himself away from his pretty new wife and examine the tiny, mewling baby. The doctor was a Charleston native, although unfamiliar to Rhett, and had pronounced the child small but sturdy, with a fine set of lungs. She demonstrated her vocal prowess only sparingly, having been rendered quite content at the breast of the fat darkie nurse temporarily engaged to suckle her until he could find a permanent replacement.

"No one knows that you're with me, sweet girl," Rhett whispered to his sleeping daughter, at contented rest in his arms. "Your Mama is in Heaven this morning, with your sister Bonnie and your twin. But Daddy loves you. So, so much." And then, he drew the baby's face up to his lips and covered it with kisses, which caused her to whimper in protest. He took another look at her as she stretched out tiny arms. Ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes. Rosebud lips and hair as black as his own. He looked out the window and saw that the sun was already up, signaling that it would be a beautiful day in Charleston, if they'd ever get there. It had been a long time since he had made a visit to the Low Country; he had almost forgotten its beauty while in the alcohol induced stupor he had kept going since he had walked out on Scarlett.

He could feel tears on his cheeks. Poor, poor Scarlett. He was a damned coward for not being there at the vigil, or the funeral. Would they bury her next to Gerald O'Hara at Tara, in the red clay soil she loved so well? Or would they put her next to Bonnie at Oakwood? He hoped not, for Scarlett would never have wished herself to be buried amongst the families of the Old Guard she had so despised in life. He looked again down at the baby, reveling in the miracle of her existence. His miracle. As if God himself had seen fit to give Rhett Butler a reason to live. He hoped that God would understand why he couldn't keep Wade and Ella. Surely they would be alright without him. They would be. After all, he reassured himself, they are Scarlett's children.

After another half an hour, the doctor came back to the cabin and took the baby out of Rhett's arms to examine her, which caused her to cry out mightily.

"Like I said before," the young man said, "…she has quite the set of lungs on her."

At that, Rhett had to smile through his tears.

The doctor asked hesitantly, "This is a newborn baby, sir. Might I inquire as to the health of the mother?"

"My wife," Rhett clarified for him. "She's dead. And the twin along with her."

"Twin? I see. I've never seen a twin birth myself," the doctor said, with a twinge of remorse that he had not gotten the opportunity, "I'd like to. They are of course, notoriously trying for the mother. But some survive, of course. I've not met a set, but I've read about them."

They did not exchange any further words, and Rhett continued to hold his daughter, periodically smoothing her soft hair and running his fingers over her tiny, perfect features as the doctor pushed back the swaddling to get a good look at her.

"Her hands are a little blue," the doctor said. "But that's fairly common. Was she born prematurely?"

Rhett looked up at the doctor with confusion.

"I meant, was your wife able to carry her twins to term?"

"About eight months," Rhett answered, unsure of what to say.

The doctor nodded. "So, close to term. Again, nothing to worry about, so long as you keep her quite warm. The midwife who delivered her did a fine job with the cord. See? Hardly a stump."

"The doctor," Rhett mumbled. _The doctor who had pronounced his baby girl dead._

"Her eyes are puffy, but not too bad. Again, sir, remarkable little girl you have there."

"Of course she is," Rhett heard himself say emphatically.

The doctor nodded then and took his leave, returning to his own cabin and his pretty wife, who was upset that she was not given leave to hold the baby.

"Have you ever seen such a spectacle, Thomas?" she was saying. "That man, holding his little baby as though it were the Christ Child?"

"He was wise not to pass her around, Judith," the young doctor replied soothingly. "She's only the tiniest of infants. The surviving one of a set of twins. It is quite extraordinary that he's taking her on the train at all. And that she has managed the trip so well thus far."

"It's not as if she's living under a bridge," Judith said sulkily. "And if its so extraordinary, where's the mother?"

The doctor replied, "Dead. And the truth is that Mr. Butler there is taking her death very, very hard. I didn't think that I could rightfully refuse that man anything, even had he not a penny, which is clearly not the case. But he wants to board a ship for Europe at the first possible opportunity, which is inadvisable while the child is so small."

Judith looked out the window of her compartment and sighed. "Running away from his wife's death won't do him any good. Poor, wretched man…"

Rhett disembarked from the train about eight fifteen that morning, and insisted upon cradling the baby in his arms as he did so rather than hand her over to the wetnurse. She followed, along with his valet, and he nodded politely to the young doctor and his wife, who observed him with curiosity as he stepped onto the platform and toward a waiting carriage.

An old Butler darkie named Manigo was standing at the carriage door, and jumped in behind Rhett and the silent wetnurse. "Mist' Rhett," the old man said, lowering his long dark face toward the baby and smiling slightly, "Mist' Rhett, surely dat ain't no bastaad chile?"

Rhett growled, "Like Hell. Miss Scarlett's dead. This is my…our daughter."

Manigo looked awkward and embarrassed by his blunder. "Miss Eleanor doan tell Manigo nothin'."

Rhett softened as he noticed that the old black man's lips were trembling, and he said, "Mother will be expecting us?"

Manigo nodded emphatically. "Yessah. Ah's done tole Miss Eleanor and Miss Rosemary dat we's be at de Landin' fore breakfastin', sah."

From then on, the trip was quick, and the baby only cried minimally as the carriage hit a bump in the road here and there. Rhett could see the figures of two women standing on the steps of the big house, and Manigo told him that they had probably been waiting since he had set off to fetch him from the station.

The taller of the women was wearing a faded dress of mossy brown hue and a soft felt hat with a wide brim that would not have looked out of place on a field hand, and he realized that it was his sister. His mother was next to her, her fine white hair brilliant against the pink color of her cheeks. Rosemary's face had an unusual pallor, for her. And if he didn't know any better, he would say that she'd lost a good deal of weight since his last visit.

When he had first fled to Charleston after leaving Scarlett, he had fallen into his mother's arms in some kind of a sad relief, the hot September sun soothing his soul like a balm. Now, he felt the oppressive heat more than ever, and he attempted to shield the baby's face with his hand while holding her ever so carefully.

"Rhett!" his mother cried, running toward him. "Oh my God!"

And then his sister, sweat visible on her face, said something then which he missed. She had clearly been out riding, examining the rice fields.

"What is this?" his mother asked.

"Let's get her inside and out of the sun," Rhett said, brushing past both of the women.

After that, both were quiet as they followed him, waiting for him to enlighten them.

He sat down in a rocking chair in the solar, the baby still sleeping in his arms, and finally spoke to his mother and sister. "Scarlett's dead. This is her daughter. My daughter. She's…her birthday was yesterday morning, around five thirty, to be exact."

His mother bent down next to him, her voice quavering, "Rhett, Rhett - surely you didn't take the baby and flee without attending to the funeral. Rhett, honey, Rhett?"

He stood up then, clutching the baby to his chest. His mother, frightened by his display of emotion, reached out her hands. "Hand the baby to me, Rhett honey. Let me see my Grandbaby."

Rosemary said, "If you don't sit down, you'll have a stroke. And then where your baby be but orphaned? Understand?"

Rhett let his mother hold the child then, his hands trembling as he returned to his seat. "I need to get out of here."

Rosemary countered. "Fine, but you'll leave the baby with Mother. And I'll go and see about the other children."

"My daughter will come with me."

"And where do you want to take her? To the whores of New Orleans? The Bahamas?"

"No!" he bellowed, causing his mother to jump and the baby to let out a cry. "Give her to me," he stretched out his hands.

His grief and fatigue made it difficult for him to even see straight, and Rosemary well knew it. She could see for herself the blood pounding in Rhett's temples.

"What about the other children, Rhett? Or have you forgotten about them?"

Mrs. Butler walked toward her son slowly, with all the dignity of a great lady. "We'll need to tell Pauline and Eulalie as soon as possible. And the entire household must wear mourning for Scarlett …"

Rhett shook his head, his eyes pleading with his mother to understand. "I can't go back to Atlanta. I can't face Atlanta without Scarlett. None of them know that the baby survived. They said she was dead when they gave her to me. Please, Mother. Let me take her away with me before you tell them. At least grant me that."

Mrs. Butler's eyes glistened with tears. "Where, Rhett?"

"London or Paris."

"Europe? Why, Rhett? Why Europe?"

"She can be raised away from all of this. All the narrow people who threw slurs at Scarlett and me. From the hot sun and the mosquitoes and the cotton and the goddamned rice!"

Rosemary spoke after several moments of silence, her words slow and deliberate. "So, you will just abandon the other children to the charity of their relatives?"

Rhett shook his head. "I will provide generously for their education. For a trousseau for Ella, University for Wade. Whatever the amount you think appropriate only tell me and it will be so. I swear to God, Rosemary, I will not set another foot in Atlanta as long as I live."

"And what about Bonnie?"

He jerked back as if she had struck him, but then, the sunlight flooded into the window, illuminating the baby's face. "I've been given a second chance, Rosemary," he said finally. "We'll be upstairs. Tell that nurse that my daughter will likely be hungry."

Realizing that his mind was made up, Rosemary threw her hands up in acquiescence and shuffled towards the door, presumably to give instructions to the waiting wetnurse. Mrs. Butler said very softly, "When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow," Rhett replied. "There's a ship out of New York on Wednesday, which is two days from now, bound for London."

"And when…when do you feel that you'll return?"

He shrugged. "I need time, Mother."

She put a hand over her mouth, then called out his name once more as he started up the staircase. "Rhett - What are you going to call her?"

"Katie Scarlett comes to mind," he said, then turned his back on his mother and continued up the stairs to his childhood bedroom…

**. . . .**

As Scarlett was waking up, it came to her why Ashley had seemed so distressed when she had first asked him about Rhett: Rhett had been handed the body of the dead baby by Dr. Meade before it was buried. Of course he would flee; it was only natural for him to have fled. She had forgotten, largely, the events of that day, but, two weeks past, as she was getting out of bed for the first time, the memories flooded into her mind. And naturally, her first and foremost concern was getting in touch with Rhett, wherever he had gone, and tell him that their prayers had been answered, that they were parents again. He couldn't be anything but happy about that. Especially when he saw her, their glorious baby girl. She only wished, she thought with a sharp pang in her chest, that she could have at least seen the other one, before they took her to bury. She chased the thought away, thinking that she should be damned grateful to have one beautiful baby, even if her sister was not meant to be.

She still had a great deal of difficulty getting up, so tired was she still from the birth. She decided that it was not worth the effort, so she rang the tiny silver bell on her nightstand, which would summon one of the maids to help her into a dressing gown so that she could make the trip down the hall to the nursery and see her darling little Melanie Grace.

It was not her maid Pansy that entered, but Mammy, her heaving breaths preceding her actual entry.

"Mah lamb! Ah's tole you and Ah's tole you. You ain't s'posed to be oughta dat there bed! Ah sees you done got dat there shawl all on your own. Betchu figured on jes' walkin' on down dat hallway like you's got all your stren' back, chile. Well, you ain't!"

"I hear you, Mammy," Scarlett replied without too much obstinacy in her voice. She was tired, after all. "Would you bring the baby in here, please? I want to hold her."

"Well," Mammy muttered, then looked back toward the open door. It was Ashley.

"Why Ashley Wilkes, what a pleasant surprise," Scarlett sat up a little straighter in bed. "Come and see me, won't you? I'm dreadfully bored."

"Ain't fittin'." Scarlett thought she heard Mammy mumble as Ashley took a seat at the edge of her bed and brushed his lips across her hand, surrounding it with his own as he did so. Kindly he asked her if she wasn't too tired and he also inquired as to little Melanie's health since he had last visited the day before.

Scarlett had known Ashley Wilkes long enough to know when something was troubling him and something was, deeply, by the look on his face.

"What is it, Ashley?" she said finally.

He seemed to be relieved that she had asked and looked up at Mammy, as if signaling that she should go. The old woman stayed put at her post by the door.

"You received some correspondence from Rosemary Butler," Ashley began gently.

"Rhett's sister?" Scarlett could feel her heart beginning to race.

"Yes, Scarlett."

"What did she say?" she asked eagerly.

He cleared his throat, looking nervously back at Mammy, then Scarlett. "My intention in telling you this is not to upset you, my dear."

"Just tell me, Ashley."

"Rhett sent this - it's addressed only to Wade and Ella. He apologizes for not being able to watch them grow, et cetera, et cetera. He promises to provide for them financially which he does, in the way of - three million dollars."

"What are you saying, Ashley?" Scarlett's heart was sinking as fast as it had soared.

"He has asked that I administrate it, although I am at a loss for a reason why he would not simply give it to you. I suppose he …oh Scarlett, I don't know what he supposed."

"Where is he, Ashley? What else did she say?"

"He's left the country, my dear. And left Rosemary no contact information."

"But, Ashley?"

"Dat's 'nuff!" Mammy said gruffly, "Ain't doin' no good upsettin' Miss Scarlett now."

"She needs to know, Mammy."

"Mist' Ashley!"

"What's going on here that I don't know about?" Scarlett cried out in frustration.

He pulled out a piece of paper from a thick envelope. "A bill of sale for the Peachtree house. It's an eviction notice, Scarlett. You …you'll have to be out in a week's time."

"I don't understand, Ashley, I …I don't understand it!"

Then, she began to cry and she felt his arms around her, his soothing voice repeating the words: "It's going to be alright, my dear."

She asked him then if he thought that Rhett truly had stopped loving her, as if he was the authority in such matters of the heart. He said that he was sure that it was not so - but then he railed for a minute or two about wanting to write Rhett a letter, one with a punch, that would make him sorry for what he had done.

"And then," Ashley said emphatically, "I would spit in his face and throw him out, were he ever to show up here."

Scarlett was far too upset to appreciate the humor in Ashley's assertion; he would never survive the delivery of such a slight to Rhett. Since she did not reply, he must have assumed that she thought his statement a satisfactory solution for the problem.

He repeated his remark and Scarlett sobbed again, "But why, Ashley? What did I ever do but love him?"

They sat there for awhile, him holding her hand and her not saying anything. After almost an hour he said that he should go. She felt all at once exhausted and broken-hearted and bitter. She didn't understand at first, but after she thought about it for awhile, she realized that Ashley had been right, that it was one of those things that was bound to happen sooner or later. She even agreed, much as she didn't want to.

At least she had Melanie to love, as well as Wade and Ella. Her little girl. Hers and Rhett's. She heard only the sound of the blood pounding about in her ears, and she lay in motionless in her bed. Finally, she sat up again in bed and near screamed: "You've always been allowed to leave me Rhett Butler, whenever you please! Just as you always have! Not this time. Sell my house from out from under me, will you? Well, when you come back, we won't be here in Atlanta. Me and the children and your baby are going to be gone somewhere you won't be able to find us so easily. When you come back this time, you'll have to earn it..."

**. . . .**

As the church bell tolled, Rosemary Butler's train pulled out of the Atlanta depot. She sat in her compartment next to her ladies' maid, stone-faced. Ashley Wilkes had accepted the note from Rhett and the check for whatever ungodly amount of money her brother had deemed fitting for Wade and Ella's care.

So Scarlett was still living …poor Rhett. Rosemary had never approved of his marrying her from the start, and she had seen firsthand the effects of their twisted, toxic love.

Or was it even love, when it drove her brother to such distraction?

Her poor dear brother. He should be safe in England this day or the next. Him and that sweet baby. The very best of Scarlett. He'd not be back to Atlanta, and there would be none to tell him that Scarlett was alive, not after the house was sold and all his assets in the city were liquidated, as per his request. No, it was better this way. For all concerned…Rosemary felt a little chill run down her spine. No, she reassured herself, it was much, much better this way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **I am so, so grateful for the kind reviews!

They are so appreciated … I can't even tell you how much…

_**Gone With the Wind is the intellectual property of the great Margaret Mitchell and no infringement is intended.**_

* * *

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Without taking a full account of the overcast sky, Cat Butler moved absently about her small garden, not having even a hat to shield her from any sudden spring rain shower. She had thought the day previous to gather a bouquet of red and pink roses for her Daddy, who was only just returned from a quick trip to the city - but she had not recalled that rosebushes had thorns, and so had spent the afternoon miserably sucking on her fingers, which were sticky with blood where she had grabbed hold of the spiny stems. Her Daddy had been furious - of course, not at Cat. His ire was directed at Mrs. Fletcher, her governess, for allowing harm to come to her, although Cat reassured him that it really wasn't so grave an injury.

But then the haughty Englishness of Mrs. Fletcher kicked in, and she promptly let Cat's father know that he had allowed Cat to wander about the property with little to no supervision for as long as she had been in his employee, and she was unaccustomed to being reprimanded for not minding every small step of her young charge. Besides, the lady had not-so-gently reminded him, Katherine is to be a young lady - and if getting a hand full of blisters was what was required to render her more apt to become such, it would be a welcome lesson.

But Cat possessed no such delusions of ever being received as a _real_ lady by anyone of importance. She was far better suited for grander things, such as accompanying her Daddy on one of his many business ventures. At the age of ten, she had already been to thirteen countries - as far away as Russia! Although Mrs. Fletcher was fond of stating in the presence of Cat's father that such travel did not become a young lady, Cat would interject loudly her own sentiments, that she enjoyed their adventures thoroughly and she would be heartsick without them.

And her father wouldn't think to do it otherwise. He was ever so kind in that way. More so than any father had a right to be, Mrs. Fletcher said. So, when he would receive a wire from a business associate in Havana or Moscow or Buenos Aires, Mrs. Fletcher and several alternate ladies' maids were readied for their small mistress's pleasure as well, never mind that maids of satisfactory pedigree, character, and constitution were difficult to come by, even in as large a city as London.

"You're a wonder, my darling Cat," her Daddy was prone to say, and Cat would flash a grin up at him, accepting the compliment as her due.

It wasn't that Cat was desirous of the praise; for she knew how well loved she was by her father, but more than that, she felt that she was needed by him as well. Her Daddy was a very important man of business, and it was essential that he knew how much she treasured their time together, lest he'd stop taking her with him and she'd never see him at all. Then she'd be like her friends, the Princesses Maud and Alexandra, neither of whom were with their parents more than a handful of occasions per year.

For all the sharpness in Mrs. Fletcher's tongue, the old dear really did have Cat's father wrapped round her finger, and he really did defer to the lady in all things concerning the household. She kept the domestic troubles at bay and Cat as immaculately dressed and as well-spoken and charming as any of the children of the Peerage. With Mrs. Fletcher's guiding hand, Cat was enabled to attend the same parties as the Princesses and children of the Earls, Dukes, and important gentlemen in Her Majesty's Kingdom. It had only been last year that Mrs. Fletcher had prevailed upon her sister, the private secretary to Lady Somerset, to speak to her mistress about securing for Cat Butler a play date with Princess Alexandra, who was about Cat's own age. Lady Somerset had obliged, knowing of Cat's father's reputation as a powerful shipping magnate and war hero, who had near single-handedly provided England with American cotton during that country's Civil War.

So, Cat's father was summoned to court to greet Her Majesty, the Queen, and Cat too was presented. The Queen had complemented her extraordinary eyes, which were neither green nor blue in color, but a subtle blend of the two. In the right light, as must have been the case the day of her presentation, Cat's eyes were turquoise, but in the dark, they turned a darker bluish-green - not nearly so pleasing in Cat's opinion. Mrs. Fletcher was fond of declaring that Cat's constantly scrutinizing eyes put her in mind of a cat o'er a pot of cream, which was how she had gotten her nickname. Her Daddy had heard her say it once and adopted it as readily as if he'd been the one to think it up. From that day forward, Cat had been Cat, not Katherine, the name she had inherited from her deceased Mother.

"Good morning to you, Kitty Cat," Mrs. Fletcher had appeared from out of nowhere, her light blonde hair spilling out from under her neat cap and her black dress as perfectly pressed as ever, despite her clearly having ran the distance from the house to the garden. "Your Father requests breakfast with you. Come inside now, do."

Cat shrugged and shuffled toward the lady, a handful of wild daisies in her hand.

"Not going to brave the rosebushes again today, are you?" Mrs. Fletcher clucked her tongue as she took the makeshift bouquet from Cat's hands and handed it to the first maid they encountered who wasn't already attending to a task.

"Put these in water for Miss Katherine," Mrs. Fletcher ordered, "And bring them up to the breakfasting room so that Mr. Butler can enjoy them as well."

The maid nodded in acquiescence and took the flowers without a word, and Cat looked up at Mrs. Fletcher for some sign of what might be to come. Her Daddy never summoned her for breakfast when she was already arisen and out of doors - not unless there was some truly important afoot. Perhaps another adventure?

In the time it took them to cross the back hall to the staircase, Mrs. Fletcher had servants running in all directions to do her bidding: breakfast trays were to be sent upstairs, mail to be delivered to Mr. Butler's office, reminders sent to the cooks that the Princesses Alexandra and Maud were due in an hour's time for a play date and two maids were then dispatched to Cat's playroom to make sure that it was in order to receive their royal guests (Cat thought that order was rather silly, since she was known for her neatness and the Princesses were certainly not), and finally, Mrs. Fletcher directed an order to Cat herself: "Mind yourself today, love. Your Father is hosting a visitor of great importance."

If it had been a normal day, Cat would have avoided an important visitor like the plague -but her curiosity had been piqued by Mrs. Fletcher's hushed tone. The woman was blue blooded, having many noble connections herself, so was rarely intimidated by rank. Cat had seen her governess act this way only once before, and that had heralded the visit of her Aunt Rosemary from America, which was trying on her nerves, as well as Cat's. Rosemary had been a dried up prune of a woman, richly dressed and filled with self importance. She had brought from America many of Cat's deceased grandmother's effects, which seemed to only upset Cat's father, and her sole words to Cat had been addressed him instead: "She looks a good deal like Scarlett, does she not?"

Scarlett. Her mother. Scarlett, whom Cat only knew from the tiny miniature in the locket she kept about her person at all times. Her sister Bonnie's picture was on the opposite side as her mother's. Although she had died years before Cat was born, her Daddy had told her that she would have loved her very much, as he did. Mrs. Fletcher said that Cat favored both her mother and sister, who had been only five when the portrait was taken. Cat, at nearly ten, had dismissed the notion. Bonnie, had she lived, would have inherited the classic beauty from their mother. The same features on Cat were much too severe, and she was much too tiny to possess her looks enough to attain a haughty effect. Bonnie and their mother were beauties. She was passing fair, to be generous. But what Cat lacked in conventional beauty, she made up for tenfold in her charm. She was warm, giving, dog-devoted to her Daddy and those about her inner circle, and so versatile and diplomatic that Mrs. Fletcher said that if she was not offered a position as lady-in-waiting to one of the Princesses when she was older, she would be most excellent on the stage.

"Who is the visitor, Mrs. Fletcher?" Cat asked.

"His Grace, the Earl of Fenton."

"Only an Earl? How boring."

"I suppose you think that an intimate of their Highnesses can thumb her pretty little nose at members of the Peerage?" Mrs. Fletcher scolded, although Cat could see that she was smiling underneath.

"Not so, Mrs. Fletcher. But I've never heard _you_ talk about Earl Fenton. You know everyone in the entire court, it seems."

The older woman sighed. "Earl Fenton is the second son of the Viceroy of Ireland, my impertinent little Miss."

"Ah. So that's what all the fuss is about." Cat continued at her governess's heels as Mrs. Fletcher quickened her pace. "Has he arrived yet, Earl Fenton?"

Mrs. Fletcher nodded, then paused, glancing over her charge. "You look fine, Kitty Cat. Just make a small curtsy and allow your father to introduce you to His Grace. Eat small bites, just as at Court. If you are still in conference when the Princesses' carriage arrives, I shall summon you."

Cat bit her lower lip, a habit left over from her earliest childhood days. Her governess seemed more ill at ease than the day she had been presented to Queen Victoria. The office of Viceroy was an important one, she knew, but it was more like a deputy than an actual sovereign. And the Earl of Fenton wasn't even the Viceroy himself, merely his son. She certainly didn't see what all of the fuss was about. But it had always been a natural ability of Cat's to adapt herself to any situation, whether to take charge or merely coexist humbly - her father shared her talent, which quite possibly was a secret to his success.

The door was opened a second later, and Mrs. Fletcher stepped in first, announcing herself and bobbing her head in the direction of her employer, Cat's father, who was seated at the small breakfast table, and the man at his left. Earl Fenton.

"Miss Katherine, sir," Mrs. Fletcher said, then motioned for Cat to enter. Normally she would have thrown her arms around her Daddy's neck, but she had a care for protocol, and instead, curtseyed politely for the gentleman before taking her own seat.

The Earl stood up and pulled Cat's chair out for her, and she saw his face up close for the first time. The golden hair and piercing blue eyes reminded her of a painting she had seen once, and she saw the undeniable look of nobility on his brow. He was most assuredly a Coburg, as were most of the Royal Family, with the same authoritative air as the Prince of Wales, the father of her friend, Princess Maud.

Her Daddy was as dark as the Earl was fair, and his handsome features belied his fifty-nine years. He threw back his head and laughed his deep, rich laugh. Cat loved his voice, so unabashedly American, but uniquely drawled with the accent of the Southern states, to which she had never made a trip. It made all of her friends laugh to hear him speak.

"What's so funny?" she said softly, ever so deftly placing her napkin in her lap.

Her Daddy flashed an enormous grin. "I was just telling my friend the Earl here about the wild Indian I have for a daughter. A veritable imp that climbs trees and sailing masts and falls asleep atop the roof on warm summer nights …Could you tell me where she might have gone this morning?"

"Certainly not the young lady before me," the Earl smiled. Cat privately thought that his teeth were the whitest she had ever seen, almost too white to be natural. He then bowed, "I am Richard, Lord Fenton."

"Sir." Cat returned his smile. He must be a good friend of her father for him to tease her so in freely in front of him.

"I am surprised, Miss Butler, that a young lady of your years has traveled further than I. Your father has told me that you saw Moscow not last year?"

"Indeed, sir. It was very cold."

"I fear that I could not withstand a Russian winter. You and your father are two of a kind."

Cat smiled in earnest then. Two peas in a pod. That was what her Daddy always called them, and that was just fine with her. "It has been too long since we've had an adventure." Then she looked pointedly at her father, who winked.

"Well, Kitty Cat, that's exactly what I wanted to speak to you about. Lord Fenton has invited us to join him when he leaves the country next week. To stay with him a few weeks in Ireland."

"Ireland?" Cat's eyes widened. Her mother had been Irish, and her Daddy had never wanted to visit the country, presumably for that reason. Anything that reminded him of her mother caused him a good deal of pain, and well Cat knew it. "Do you mean it?"

"Your father is going to assist our infantry in putting down a series of small rebellions," the Earl continued. "My own father has been keeping the peace only by a thread, dear Katherine. The bloody Irish rebels continue to usurp our authority by smuggling weapons in and out of the country…Your father is going to orchestrate a …blockade, of sorts."

"Daddy! How exciting!" Cat exclaimed, which caused the Earl to chuckle.

"It is exciting, dear Katherine."

"We call her Cat, Fenton," Cat's Daddy corrected.

"I can see why, with all the climbing she does - of course, I've yet to witness it."

Cat hoped that she was sitting primly enough. Mrs. Fletcher would die if the Earl of Fenton witnessed her climbing in and out of her tree house. Maud and Alexandra would too, for that matter.

"A modest kitty, I see," the Earl smirked, and Cat thought that his tone was slightly condescending. There was something that she didn't like about the way he moved about the table, first behind her and then behind her father, who was reading over a piece of paper.

"This contract is …thorough …Fenton."

"You understand, of course, Rhett. The seriousness of the operation, I meant. The need for secrecy. You will be a covert agent on behalf of the Crown. It's a basic contract, really."

"And the part where I get shot for treason?"

Fenton's eyes rolled slightly. Cat felt a chill run down her spine.

"Rhett, as you yourself have stated, this is not your fight, my good man."

"Indeed," Cat's Daddy smiled again, then affixed his signature to the document and handed it up to the Earl.

"Very good, very good. You know, _Cat_…" Cat did not like how he said her name. Again, the condescending tone. "I am fortunate enough to be acquainted with a fine lady in my own County Meath, where you and your father will respite first, who has a daughter about your age. Of course, I am told that your playing companions are Their Royal Highnesses. I'm afraid that Grace will not be nearly so …delicate. Her name is deceiving. Indeed, I am quite certain that she is devil borne. Why, the day I left, I was in midst of bidding adieu to her mother only to have a bucket of water dumped over my head from the second story window. Soaked my best traveling cloak and gave my stallion a fierce chill."

Cat had to stifle her giggles. Served the scoundrel right. She wouldn't want him courting _her _mother. She glanced over at her Daddy, who looked amused as well.

Fortunately, Mrs. Fletcher knocked at the door and made her apologies for disturbing them. "Miss Katherine, the Princess Alexandra has arrived."

"Go on, sweetheart," Cat's father urged. "Say hello to little Alex for me."

Cat thought she noticed Fenton's eyebrow raise at her Daddy's address of a princess of the realm as 'Little Alex'.

"Your Grace." Cat curtseyed politely, then quit the room, following Mrs. Fletcher down the long corridor.

"What's really going on?" she asked her governess as soon as they were safely down the hallway. "Why didn't you tell me that we were going to Ireland?"

Mrs. Fletcher's mouth formed a thin line. "Because I had hoped that he would change his mind. The Irish are a cruel, bloodthirsty race, Kitty Cat. They are killing our men by the thousands with their rebellions and it is not a safe place for any person of quality. Particularly a child."

"But we're staying with Lord Fenton," Cat protested, "surely we'll be quite safe there."

"My own father died in Durhamston, my dear. In the most horrible manner imaginable. He was a chaplain, attempting to reason with those murdering savages …what they did to him, Cat…I dare not say it aloud."

Again the chill ran down Cat's spine, and she replayed her father's words in her mind: _shot for treason_…and somehow, seeing Alexandra seemed quite small and unimportant in comparison.

**. . . .**

"Mother! He's coming, he's coming!"

The ten year old girl flew into the room in a blur, nearly sending the end table next the door on it's end in her haste. She didn't even look at her mother, but ran straight across the room to the wind where she could view the rawboned bay stallion being taken to the stable. A small drop of blood appeared on her lower lip, where she had set her teeth tightly. Her eyes, some combination of green and blue, were widened with excitement.

"Wade's here, Mother! Here! Finally!"

"Do calm yourself, Grace," her mother said quietly, "I still haven't decided if you're going to come into town with us after what you did to Lord Fenton. He could have died from the chill."

"_Lord _Fenton," Grace muttered sarcastically under her breath, "Even if he did catch a chill, which I seriously doubt, it'd be no more than he deserved."

Scarlett O'Hara swung around and stood stiffly wringing her hands. "Melanie Grace!"

"Mother." Grace heaved a sigh.

"What am I going to do with you?"

"Wade doesn't like Lord Fenton either. He doesn't approve of him and he says that you're consorting with the enemy and that's the truth of it. He says that it's the same thing as if you were being courted by a Yankee during the height of the war. It's so if Wade says it, Mother."

Scarlett hesitated, not wanting to inadvertently spill the nature of Wade's business to her daughter, who, lovable and well-meaning that she was, could never be trusted with a secret and might inadvertently spill it to the wrong person - Lord Fenton in particular - though it would be in a fit of rage when she did it. Grace had inherited no small share of Gerald O'Hara's temper, and it was most often on display in the presence of Lord Fenton…

Scarlett looked up to see Grace leaning precariously out the bedroom window, which looked over the long drive.

"I've not been to town in ages," Grace entreated, "Please? I need to talk to Wade."

"He'll be here the better part of the week," Scarlett answered. "And I need to speak with him first without you. So you'll say your hellos when he comes in and then see if you have any luck rousing Ella from her slumber."

"Ach, Mother. She'll be abed until noon at least."

"Well then tell her that we'll be off without her."

"She's still sulking over Paddy Moynihan."

Scarlett rolled her eyes. Her older daughter had made a fool of herself at the County Fair, proclaiming herself in love with the dashing, devilishly handsome equestrian in Lord Fenton's employee. She felt partly responsible, because she had in fact encouraged the affection between the two young people, to a point. Ella was not a great beauty, but she had a large dowry and a good heart, and any of the nobles in Lord Fenton's circle had sons who would have been proud to make her an offer. Ella though, at twenty-one, was firmly on the shelf_;_ that was, considered widely unavailable. Not that Ella wouldn't be a superb wife for someone. She just hadn't met that someone yet. And Paddy Moynihan certainly was not him. Grace's face gave Scarlett's thoughts pause. Such a woebegone expression!

"Alright, you may go. Now, do wake Ella up. I'll visit with Wade while you rouse her. Go on, love."

"Suppose Wade's changed in a year? Suppose he's not the same?"

Scarlett sighed. If only Grace knew how right she was. Still, she reassured her daughter, "Wade will never change. He's the same fine man he always has been-"

"But why has he been traveling so much? He's a lawyer, isn't he? Not an explorer, nor an adventurer. Not even a missionary like Cousin Colum."

Lord, that girl was perceptive! Although Colum's travels were hardly church related …and more akin to Wade's than even Scarlett wished to admit.

"He was raised in America, but his family is _here_," Grace persisted.

"He enjoys traveling. And it's only since he left the army."

"And got in that fight with that _bloody _Fenton!"

"Melanie Grace! Do you want to go or not? Now, I do not want to hear you complain about my friends any more, do you understand?"

"It's not your _friends_, Mother. Just Fenton."

"I suggest you remove yourself from this room before Wade walks in. I'm quite sure that he will not appreciate your attitude any more than I do." Scarlett stared down at the exquisite little face looking back at her, filled with such defiance. Wade was handsome and Ella was lovely, but Grace was going to be a beauty. Everyone in the County had said it. Of course, she had known that Grace would be beautiful the moment she held her in her arms. If only Rhett could see…

No sooner had Grace exited, when Mrs. Fitzpatrick, the housekeeper, stuck her head in the doorway. "Mister Hamilton, Ma'am." At least, Mrs. Fitz attempted to announce him. Her son filled the room with his presence the very moment he entered it. Great balls of fire, Scarlett thought, was it possible that he was even more handsome than the last time she saw him? Yes, he was indeed. Although his looks were largely unchanged, at twenty-six, nothing of the boy he had been remained in him. No, he was very much a man. A man involved in something far more dangerous than he knew…

"Mother. I'm very happy to find you without your ardent admirer in tow."

She was flustered. She had not expected him to address the subject of Fenton outright.

"Don't think for a moment that you can come in here and criticize me. You do have manners, I believe, and I'll thank you to use them while you're in my house," she snapped.

"I would apologize, Mother, but you'd not allow it," Wade smiled wryly. "But I do wish that you would be more careful …I heard that he was here the night the shipment arrived-"

"I don't want to hear it." Scarlett cut him off, "I don't open your parcels and I don't wish to know what's in them. I've told Colum the same, and he respects my wishes."

"Says the woman who spat in the face of the Yankee soldier as she demanded her little son's sword?"

"I don't recall spitting."

"You did in my memory."

"Hmm."

"So, when is Fenton set to return?"

"Next Friday."

"Good. I'll be long gone."

"To?"

"I thought you didn't want to know?"

If she had hoped to dissuade him by feigning disinterest, she had failed dismally. He offered no excuse, no denial, just the proud rebellious smile that Charles Hamilton had worn when he had gone off to fight the Yankees. It would be hypocritical of her to upbraid him for patriotism and loyalty to his adopted homeland, particularly when she felt largely the same way, her association with the English Viceroy's son aside.

Wade continued to chuckle. "Don't worry, Mother. I shan't darken your ears with tell of my misdeeds. As long as you know that I think of you at every turn…"

"Well, perhaps you'll change your mind when I tell you what has happened in your absence," Scarlett smirked.

Wade raised his dark eyebrow. "What, you haven't married him, have you?"

Lord, but they were _all_ perceptive!

"It was …mentioned."

"Are you serious, Mother?" Wade asked with genuine shock. "He proposed, knowing that you are still technically married?"

"A decade constitutes abandonment under English law, apparently. Besides, I'm O'Hara here, not Butler. He mentioned a title."

"Lovely."

"Baroness Navan."

"Your Highness," Wade pretended to bow.

"Don't be cruel, Wade. He's a fine man. Now you see, his wooing was interrupted by this business trip. And I'm terrified that he's going to discover you-"

Wade shook his head. "There's no chance in that. And even less of him marrying you, if I've anything to say about it…"

"Fiddle-dee-dee. I don't wish to discuss it anymore, Wade Hampton. You go upstairs and ask Mrs. Fitz to have someone draw you a bath. I promised your sisters we'd go into town today and you need to look like a lawyer, not an itinerate traveler."

Wade laughed a little. "Your service." He paused at the door. "We don't have to discuss this further, Mother. But I only want what is best for you, but you can't see it right now."

Scarlett wrung her hands for a few minutes as he left the room before she jumped up and nearly went after him. She had forgotten to hug him when he had entered. At the moment, Richard, Lord Fenton was forgotten, and she thought only of her three children …and how precious each embrace was …


	4. Chapter 4

**4**

Ella had gone to bed the night before in tears, and Grace had gone to bed saddened for her sister, but too excited over Wade's arrival to allow her sister's distress to worry her overmuch. Ella was surely just being silly. She couldn't _really_ mean that she wanted to run away with Paddy Moynihan! She would have a good cry about it, of course. But then she would see the truth of their mother's words and accept them.

Grace knocked only once before entering Ella's bedroom. Her sister was awake after all, wearing a her flannel robe and a wrapper over her nightgown to shield her from the chill of the room. She was sitting in front of her vanity, running a brush through her waist length coppery hair. Her lips were downturned into a frown, but she still looked beautiful, even in her despair.

"Mother thought you'd still be asleep, Ella."

"I woke with the sun." Ella said. "Did you see Wade here yet?"

"Not yet," Grace said truthfully, "Mother wanted to talk to him first."

"That's nice." Ella seemed distracted to Grace. But why? She didn't want to mention her words to their mother about Lord Fenton, not wanting Ella to have to think about the equerry with whom she was so smitten. But she had to know what was on her sister's mind.

"Mother wants to go to town today."

"Yes."

"Well, aren't you going to get ready?"

"That - that won't be necessary, Gracie. I'm just going for a …for a walk."

"A walk?" Grace inquired lamely.

"Yes, silly. A nice walk around the grounds. No need to go all the way into town today. Besides, John took sick yesterday and Maureen wanted one of us to go and see old Katie Scarlett, remember?"

The idea wasn't completely unbelievable, although Ella would have normally preferred to take the carriage, even for traveling about the grounds of Ballyhara. The estate went on for miles and miles, before finally running cattycorner to Lord Fenton's estate and the township of Durhamstown on either side. Old Katie Scarlett was the mother of their mother's father, and was the oldest person in the village. At one hundred years young, the gentle dear had finally consented to move from her house in the town up to Ballyhara and kin. Her only living son, Daniel Ryan O'Hara, was chief of staff of sorts, the head stableman and the chief groom all at once, and his second wife, Rosamund Fitzpatrick, was both the head housekeeper and Grace's governess. Much to the disapproval of Lord Fenton, she might add, who, although Daniel and Mrs. Fitz were O'Hara kith and kin, considered all of the Irish beneath him and his horse as well.

Grace thought that the Irish were the most supreme of all the races, so proudly and fiercely ran the blood through her veins, as well as Ella's and Wade's most of all. Wade was a patriot, and Grace loved nothing more than to hear him talk about Irish independence. It was as if he knew that he was too young to fight in the war which had laid claim to his father's life, but he'd make up for it by fighting against the oppressor elsewhere.

But back to Ella - what was all the stammering? The evasive answers to her questions? The sudden desire to see their great grandmother? God's nightgown, Grace thought to herself, she must be going to meet Paddy! That was it, it had to be! But surely Paddy was not at home; as Lord Fenton's equerry he would have had to have been with him…

Unless Fenton was already back …which would be very, very bad for Wade.

**. . . . **

"I'm looking for Paddy Moynihan, please. The equerry to his Lordship."

Mrs. Fletcher met the harried looking groom's gaze with her own look of disinterest, wishing that that the blighter would not stare at her in such an uncouth manner, and wishing even more dearly that Mr. Fletcher could have accompanied them, if only for protection. Something akin to recognition flared in the groom's eyes as his gaze passed the dame and onto Cat, who looked anything but proper in her old riding habit and wide-brimmed hat.

"I'm Paddy Moynihan," he said, softening his brogue. "I take it that you both are here as Lord Fenton's guests?"

"Indeed," Mrs. Fletcher snapped with irritation. That was all she was willing to reveal, unaccustomed to making conversation with servants in a lower position than she, particularly Irish servants - but with no other options presenting themselves since the departure of her employer and their host on a business matter, she was left to negotiate Cat's entertainment. Not that she was happy about it. No, she would have been content to remain indoors. But Cat had mentioned that she wanted to explore to her father, and Mr. Butler was insistent that her every whim be catered to while he was away.

Moynihan stepped closer to Cat and looked down at her, then whistled. "Ne'er seen the like …your eyes…save for me lady friend's wee sister, Grace. 'Bout your age."

Cat smiled, and was going to reply when Mrs. Fletcher cut her off, "We aren't here to exchange pleasantries, Mr. Moynihan. We simply need use of two docile mounts for the afternoon while we explore this…town."

"Village?"

"Indeed. Can you service us?"

"Aye. But just for the afternoon, you said?"

"Indeed."

"Lady, twill take you o'er an hour to get down the hill, and an hour back. Can't be more'n three left in the day before dark. I can take you meself, so that you won't get lost."

"Why that's unnecessary-"

"I insist, ma'am. As a courtesy to your…rank," he grinned a cheeky grin, then pointed to his chest. "So, let's start with introductions then. I am Paddy. And you, dear lady?"

Mrs. Fletcher turned the color of ripe raspberries. "Eudora Fletcher. Miss Butler's governess."

"And I'm Cat," Cat piped up and stuck her hand out.

"How old are you, Cat, love?"

"Do not speak to Miss Butler with such -"

"Oh Mrs. Fletcher, it's just an expression," Cat interrupted her and addressed Paddy, "She was the same way when my Daddy called her darling."

"Cat!"

"He's American, that's why…oh, and I'm ten."

"Really? Well, you must be meetin' Grace then. That'd be me lady friend's sis, that I told you about. They're American too. Well, their Ma is. But she's right at home here in Ireland, what with the kin and whatnot. They call her the O'Hara, on account of her living at the Big House."

"I've never met an American before. Not anyone my own age anyway."

"And there is a reason for that, Miss," Mrs. Fletcher snapped. "Almost as impudent as the Irish…try to remember yourself."

**. . . .**

I had hoped that we'd have longer in reasonable quiet," Wade stepped down to the pavement beside his youngest sister, letting the door of his great uncle's cottage swing shut behind him. "Unfortunately, the nice weather has brought the whole bloody town out in force."

"I can't find Ella anywhere. Or Mother, for that matter!" Grace scanned the throng of tradesman and patrons in the street, all crowded along the small gravel pathway for market day. "Why were you talking to cousin Jamie for so long? And why did I have to stand outside?"

"You were looking for Ella, of course," he reminded her, pinching her cheek with brotherly fondness.

"You're keeping secrets. And so is Mother. And Ella. None of you tell me anything."

"Fiddle-dee-dee," Wade said, in perfect imitation of their mother, which made them both laugh. "Now, now, Gracie. You sound even more disenchanted with the illustrious Fenton than in your letters. One might get the idea that you didn't like the man."

At that, she heaved a sigh, and he wrapped a strong arm around her. "Well, let's go look at the horses then and then we'll have a look at the dolls at the toy shop on the High Street. That should distract you from such…unpleasant thoughts."

"But she wants to marry him, Wade."

"I know, but listen. None of our people can know. It's going to hurt them terribly if she goes through with it and even she knows it. So keep it our strict secret."

"You have to persuade her-"

"I can say nothing to persuade Mother. Once she has it in her head to do something, I can do very little to dissuade her."

"You have a better chance than I do. And Ella just…Ughhh."

"Don't look so sad, Gracie. Your favorite brother is in town, you have air in your lungs and …truth be told…I understand Fenton is still smarting over the incident of a few weeks ago."

"I'll use horse manure next time," Grace brightened at the thought.

"A worthy goal," Wade winked.

As they continued to walk, they saw that a large crowd had surrounded about the horse vendor, O'Malley, from Newmarket, and Wade had to speak to him alone for reasons which she was unsure. She had been fairly certain that they would find Ella there, amongst the buyers, although their sister knew not the first thing about horses. Her hunch was wrong; she did not see her as she had expected, looking pretty on Paddy's arm. Paddy Moynihan was considered the best trainer of horseflesh in all of the County, and twas rumored that had Lord Fenton not already engaged his services for his stable, the Viceroy himself might have made him an offer. But still, celebrated or not, their mother had said very adamantly that no daughter of hers would ever marry a stableman. So declared her mother.

Wade took her arm and motioned for her to follow him, which she did, surreptitiously searching for their sister. Then, rounding the large group of ladies examining the butcher's wares, she saw, standing some yards directly ahead, the tall, dark figure of Paddy himself. He was accompanied by a woman of middle age, who was fair of face and feature but who looked supremely dissatisfied.

"Paddy!" Wade called out first, then moved to shake the other man's hand. "I wasn't aware that your household was already back. Out surveying the field, I see. We're looking for Ella, ourselves, coincidentally."

"I've not seen her, Wade, and that's the truth," Paddy grinned, then seeing Grace, he winked broadly. "I'm glad to see you. This is Mrs. Fletcher, up visitin' milord Fenton from England. I've promised to protect her from us murderin' savages."

"Indeed," Mrs. Fletcher pursed her lips, refusing to react to the subtle emphasis he placed upon her country. "Eudora Fletcher. Pleasure."

Grace thought that Mrs. Fletcher looked as if meeting them was the farthest thing from pleasure.

"Wade Hamilton," her handsome brother extended his hand. In his company, even dark-haired Patty seemed to fade - his burnished light brown hair and bright eyes seemed to impress even Miss Fletcher, who shook his hand with politeness that did not seem so forced.

"Mr. Moynihan did not lie. I do recognize your accent as American, sir."

"A blend, I think. I've been on this side of the pond since I was a boy."

"With a bit of English, as well?"

"Royal Naval Academy, madam. Then two enlisted years in the regulars."

"Oh my goodness, the Academy. What an honor for you! But why ever did you choose to resign your post?"

Wade smiled ingenuously, "Because I was weary of politics."

"Indeed. My own father was Lord Admiral Howell of -"

Grace wasn't particularly interested in hearing where Lord Admiral Howell was from or to whom he was related, so she slipped away from the group and decided to look for Ella on her own.

She scanned the carriages on the street, thinking that perhaps Ella had been intercepted by one of the well-meaning matrons, wives of Lord Fenton's higher ranking servants. Or perhaps she really had gone to visit their great grandmother as she had said.

Intercepted momentarily by Mrs. McCarran, who was a stickler for politeness, Grace attempted to extricate herself quickly by explaining to the matron that she was looking for Ella and had better find her quickly, lest she get into trouble.

She had already gotten dirt from the road all over her gray and white striped twill, her second best dress. Her mother wouldn't thank her for that, whenever she got done with her meeting over tea with Lord Fenton's chief steward's wife. The cruel reminder of her immanent doom turned her concern into outright anxiety. Her mother was really going to marry the bloody bastard! No matter that no one liked him, that he was the enemy, that he was a hateful, drunken sot! She wanted to scream. And then scream at Ella, for being cryptic and disappearing. And at Wade for being gone so long. And at the father she had never met but who had abandoned them after she was born. If not for _him,_ none of this would be happening.

She was about to return to Wade when she felt someone tap on her left shoulder. Turning, she was about to give whoever it was a good telling off, that she simply wasn't in the mood for such - she paused.

It was a girl, about her age. Just her height, exactly. She was dressed in a splendid riding habit made out of green velvet and trimmed with fur. It was clearly well-loved, but not so much that it looked old. She would have been a picture out of the pattern books her mother ordered from France - but then she opened her mouth and destroyed the image.

The British accent made Grace want to hurl.

"Pardon me, I'm afraid that I've gotten a bit turned around."

Grace stared some more. Her accent wasn't quite so pronounced as she had first thought…

"Would you say that again?"

"What?"

"Around."

"Around."

"You say that funny."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Where are you from?"

"England."

"You aren't _really_ English though! I know that accent and you're - you're Southern!"

"American, you mean?"

"Not just American, you're Southern. So am I!"

"Would you be Grace?"

Grace straightened, "Yes. How did you…?"

"Paddy Moynihan suggested that I speak with you. My name is Cat, by the by."

"He did?" Grace looked at her uncertainly.

"He said that he knew your sister well."

Grace laughed. "He'd _like_ to know her well. And Ella would like to know him. But Mother positively forbids it, you know, a terrible scandal. Although, we aren't rich, so I don't know why she can't just marry the man she wants …"

The other girl was eying her with interest. "You remind me of someone."

Grace shrugged. "Really?"

"Very much."

Grace took a further appraisal of the girl, over the initial envy of her fine riding habit. She was dimly aware of all those things that her mother had said would single her out as she grew into them: the classical symmetry of the heart-shaped face, arched brows, black lashes, straight nose and wide eyes that were somewhere between green and blue -

"I think I see what you mean," Grace reached out to touch the other girl's face, which earned her a slap on the palm.

"Stop it!" Cat retorted.

"You look…you and I look…"

"You're much different than I - just look at your skin."

Grace did. Her palms were pale and fine, almost translucent. Her mother had beaten into her head the importance of maintaining her complexion. Cat was as nearly as dark as she was fair. But that was the only difference. It might throw off the casual observer, but not Grace…

She stepped back and stared.

"You must spend a good deal of time out of doors."

"It's left over from Buenos Aires," Cat informed her primly. "My Daddy and I went not two months ago. "It's lovely there. Much nicer than rainy old Ireland."

The other girl clearly didn't understand; Grace just kept staring, trying to catch her breath. She felt like one of the village boys had punched her in the stomach, like all of her muscles were contracting and had locked, unable to relax.

From behind her, she heard a voice. "Why, there's Miss Cat, Mrs. Fletcher."

Her mind whirled. There was Paddy, and Mrs. Fletcher, the snooty Englishwoman, who was quick to stand at the other girl's side. "Come Kitty Cat. We need to head back to Fenton Hall now, before it gets too dark."

To Cat, Paddy said, "This lady is the one which I wanted you to meet, Miss Cat. She can show you all there is to see and then some. T'wouldn't hurt to be shown around by one your own age, I'm thinking. Especially with your Da away for the month with his Lordship's party."

"What?" Grace tore her gaze away from Cat and back to Paddy. "Fenton's going away for the month? Where's he going?"

"To Dublin…and your mother…" Paddy's voice trailed off, as if he had said to much, and Grace let out a soft cry of defeat.

"She didn't tell me yet. I guess she was waiting until later, until we were all good and tired before she sprung that on us."

Grace thought that the other girl, Cat, looked vaguely sympathetic. Perhaps she had had the _privilege _of meeting Lord Fenton as well.

"Cat?" the governess tried again to move Cat, whose feet seemed glued to the ground.

"Grace?" Cat spoke, her precise diction reeking with arrogance and superiority that had not been there before the governess had arrived, "Perhaps you could call on me at Fenton Hall? I am very bored without my Daddy and there is no one else to play with. If you need a carriage sent, you need only give Mr. Moynihan the address…but I take it he knows already."

Paddy grinned. "Indeed. I'll ride over in the morn'n for you, Grace."

Grace sensed a dramatic heightening in his interest, and again, she locked her gaze upon Cat, whose identical eyes were brimming with suspicion.

Her accent had probably triggered that response. She spoke perfect Irish-English, just as Paddy did, but no amount of time would remove the softness of her mother's Southern accent from her tongue - quite similarly to Wade's and Ella's - and Cat's.

It was odd, certainly. And the resemblance, well, that was downright uncanny.

"I'd be glad to," Grace finally replied, and thought that the governess looked put out.

"Excellent," the governess said, her tone clipped, "Perhaps, now that you've arranged Miss Cat's itinerary, Mr. Moynihan, you could escort us back?"

"Your service, Madam," Paddy said, inclining his head in acquiescence and gesturing for her to follow him. Pausing, Cat glanced back at Grace, a haughty look over her shoulder. And as Grace met her eyes, she felt something inside of her react, some innate sense of knowing, of kinship. It must have been something, to get her to agree to set foot in Fenton's house, something she had vowed never again to do. But surely it didn't count if Fenton wasn't there.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **Thanks again in advance for reading (and reviewing!)

* * *

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Each year, Cat had celebrated the night before her birthday with her father and all of her friends in the same manner: dinner fit for a Queen, almond soup, pomplet fish from India, miniature croquettes of sweetbreads, and a grand cake at least three stories high crowned with flowers made of marzipan. Afterward, her Daddy would have all of the girls in her group of friends march out to the terrace and look into the night sky, where he would have a servant from below shoot off fireworks, shipped all the way from China. All for Cat.

This year, however, was to be quite different.

Ireland had no pomplet, nor any _decent_ fish at all, according to Mrs. Fletcher, who reluctantly served her young charge a beefsteak and rice pudding. But worst of all, Cat had to eat the sub par meal without the company of her Daddy. She was lonely at Fenton Hall. The high ceilings and dark colored paintings on the wall seemed only to dampen her spirits further, and she kept looking at the door, hoping against hope that her Daddy might walk through it. She picked at the beefsteak, not caring for the taste of the meat.

Always, her Daddy had celebrated her birthday with her, and tomorrow was her tenth! A very, very important birthday indeed.

Not that he hadn't sent a veritable treasure trove of gifts. Indeed, she had unenthusiastically unwrapped the beautiful set of books she had asked for - Kipling, Browning, and Dickens in their entirety. Next, there had been a doll with real human hair and a china face. Her gown was a miniature of Cat's next gift, a real party dress made of blue silk with at least three yards of fabric beneath the skirt and decoratively trimmed with a silk ribbon of darker blue. Mrs. Fletcher ohh-ed and ahh-ed and said that it was a dress fit for the Princess of Wales. Cat's eyes flashed over her gifts, and felt no better.

"Maybe that nice little girl you met today will prove good company," Mrs. Fletcher said kindly, taking a seat next to Cat, who gave her a weak smile.

"She was strange. You were right about the Irish, Mrs. Fletcher. Very odd people indeed."

Mrs. Fletcher nodded in understanding. "Yes, but the brother was very charming. Good family, I can tell. So there is hope yet for the child. You'll see, Kitty Cat. Cheer up now, love, and eat."

But Cat's thoughts were fixed upon the absence of her Daddy, and she wondered, foolishly, she knew, if he was safe.

_Shot for treason_.

"Why is Daddy here, Mrs. Fletcher?"

Her governess shook her head. "I cannot say my dear, with any certainty. All that I have been told is that Lord Fenton thinks that these rebel Irish are planning to run some racket that involves the mess about Home Rule. You remember, what we read about in the paper?"

Cat nodded. "The Irish want to rule themselves. But why shouldn't they? I mean, it is their country, right?"

"Yes and no. They are under our flag and have sworn allegiance to our Queen. Therefore, they are in rebellion and those in their ranks are traitors, you understand?"

"Did they know that they are supposed to serve the Queen? Or did the Queen just assume that they would, since they always have?"

"Of course they know, silly child."

"Hmm…" Cat continued to pick at her plate. "Well, who leads them?"

"They always have been a villainous sort of folk…well, not all of them, surely…but many…many are villainous. There is indeed a rather savage primacy in them."

"My mother was Irish."

"She was American, love. Of Irish descent, perhaps…"

"No, my grandfather was from Ireland. Daddy told me."

Mrs. Fletcher looked vaguely amused, and folded her hands on her lap. "Well then, perhaps you'll be able to locate relatives of his, then, while we are here…"

**. . . .**

An hour later, Grace swept into the back parlor of Ballyhara.

Her great aunt by marriage Mrs. Fitz, her governess and the housekeeper as well, sat on the chaise calmly tatting. Curled on the window seat was Ella, just as nonchalant as can be, idly glossing over a novel that looked as if it had been read more than its fair share.

Ella looked up as Grace heaved a loud sigh and set her book aside. "Did you have fun?"

"I suppose. You'll never guess what I heard," Grace said grimly, then leaned close to Ella so that Mrs. Fitz wouldn't hear and whispered into her sister's ear. "Fenton is going to Dublin for a month, and guess who he means to take with him."

Ella looked genuinely shocked. "No. It can't be-"

Mrs. Fitz lowered her needles and fixed her sharp eyes on her youngest charge. "Sure and it sounds as if you've heard something grim, child. What is it?"

Across the faded oak floor of the room, Ella met Mrs. Fitz's gaze hesitantly.

"Surely 'tis not ill tell of your young man, for I'm quite certain that his heart is firmly yours, Ella love. Which leaves me with two of the most bitter pills to swallow - that 'tis something amiss with darlin' Wade….or herself. And what I'm thinking 'tis is the latter. And it grieves me near as much as you, Grace m'dear."

Grace's eyes widened that Mrs. Fitz had figured it out, but Ella was quick to respond. Hand rising to her throat, she jumped up and hurried toward the ladies desk by the windows. She sat down in the chair that was angled in front of the desk and took out a pen and stationary. "I need to write to someone immediately before she goes through with this craziness. I can not believe her, I truly cannot! And to think that she forbids me to marry out of love and she does this!"

"Who are you writing?" Grace wondered aloud.

"To _whom_," Mrs. Fitz corrected automatically.

"I'm going to write to Cousin Colum and tell him he has to leave for Ballyhara at once. If there's something bad happening with Fenton - well, you know Colum. He'll get involved and set it right."

"Precisely that, Young Miss," Mrs. Fitz interrupted. "He will get involved, as will your brother, if he's not already…and you know of what I speak."

"I don't know-" Grace reminded them that she was still in the room. "What is it that Wade and Colum are doing? Wade was talking in private to all the men in town, but he wouldn't tell me a thing."

"Don't worry, sweet," Ella attempted to soothe her. "Wade is very smart, very careful. He knows what he's doing, and we mustn't interfere."

"Aye, but I don't want the lads in any danger - herself either - not if it's the sort as what they've been sayin' in the village, the sort where folk disappear ne'er to be heard from again."

To Grace's horror, Ella's voice began to quiver. "Paddy says that Fenton has recruited a private expeditionary force…led by Americans, ex-Confederates, of all people. I haven't told Mother yet, for fear that she'd worry, or that she'd somehow let slip Wade's cover to Fenton."

"And you'd best keep that silent," Mrs. Fitz said, looking pointedly over at Grace.

Grace rolled her eyes. Of course she had always suspected that Wade would join up with the Sons of Erin…but no one would tell her for sure…thinking, no doubt, that she was too young to be trusted with anything of importance. But Wade had always been rebellious, and wildly patriotic. His one burning passion was to fight in a war for Irish independence. While Grace certainly shared his enthusiasm and the fervor of her brother's dream, her mother, unfortunately, had rigid views on what constituted appropriate activity for her son and heir, the only O'Hara male, coincidentally.

Membership in the Sons was all well and good for others, namely others of lesser importance, but not for Wade.

Of their mother's three children, Wade was the least likely to be content with the role of country landowner - like their mother herself, he was upped in Irishness, wild and mercurial. It would be Ella, of them all, who would make the best heir to Ballyhara, dependable as she was, and stoic - when she wasn't pining away over handsome young men. Even though Grace was much younger, she was not so much that she couldn't also be a coconspirator.

She supposed that she had been taken into their confidence on the night that Wade had blown up at dinner with Fenton.

He had just resigned his commission with the Royal Navy, a commission which Fenton had procured for him, largely to protest the treatment of the Irish by their English occupiers; morally, he said, he could not stand idly by and allow the injustice to continue.

Fenton had exploded, words were exchanged, shots were fired, wounds dealt on both sides. Pushed beyond his limits, Wade had stormed out of Ballyhara, taking nothing more than what he could cram into his saddlebags.

There was a clear rupture now, between Wade and their mother, who for some reason known only to her, continued to be courted by Fenton. The wounds would take time to heal, Ella had explained. Well, Grace could accept that. But when Wade had left over a year before, out of her world for the first time in her life, she felt truly alone, as if some part of her life had been completely stripped away…perhaps it was what some people saw as growing up…

She'd hoped that Wade's visit meant that the break was a temporary one, after all; but with the news of her mother's imminent departure to Dublin in her mind, she didn't have much hope.

Meanwhile, Ella was scribbling frantically. "If I can finish this as soon as possible, John can deliver it before nightfall."

"Actually, m'darlin, before you write it, I daresay you should read this."

Grace turned to see Mrs. Fitz extract a letter from underneath her tatting. The housekeeper held out a newspaper clipping.

"Came this morning in the post. And thanks be to God that Daniel saw it before herself. He gave it to me to keep…perhaps you recognize some of the names?"

Rising, Ella took the clipping from the older woman's hands and sank back into the chair as she read it.

Horror dawned on her face as she read, and finally, Grace could stand it no longer. "What? What is it? What does it say?"

"The English garrisons are going to start making arrests of suspected members of the Sons of Erin. And they're going to be booked as traitors and hanged…without a trial. Fenton's the law now in our district."

"No!" Grace cried with horror. "Does that mean…Wade?"

"It means all our men, darlin'." Mrs. Fitz said ominously. "And with herself sitting so tight and close with that wicked man…ach…It chills me bones to think upon it long."

"We've got to tell Mother. If we tell her, surely she'll listen-"

"It's not that simple, Grace," Ella interrupted, "Mother has been courted by Lord Fenton for quite some time. To end it now would only turn suspicion back on her…on all of us."

Suddenly, the door burst open and the three jumped, in spite of themselves.

"Why the long faces?" Wade attempted a joke, then shut the door behind him and leaned against the wall. Looking up at the crack in the ceiling's plaster, he commented, "Mother needs to fix that."

At their collective silence, he nodded and said, "I already saw it. And I'm leaving tonight, so I'll be gone when you ladies rise in the morning."

"Where are you going?" Grace choked back a sob. "Will you be safe?"

He gathered her in his strong arms and kissed her on the cheek. "My sweet baby sister…Colum has gone to England to meet with Charles Parnell, one of the MP's fighting on behalf of our cause-"

"It's not _your_ cause!" Ella snapped. "It's not our problem! You're not even Irish by birth and yet you are willing to die for this foolishness-"

His eyes were bright, and his voice was absent of any rebuke. "I'm old enough to accept the consequences of my actions, Ella. And I'm also old enough to realize that freedom is never free. And that's more than for Ireland, Sister…it's for all of humanity. And it is something I am willing to die for, yes, if it comes to that. But," he addressed Grace, who had gone pale. "I do not intend to die for a very, very, very long time. Until I'm at least Old Katie Scarlett's age, eh?"

That made her smile a little, although she was still filled with the greatest sense of trepidation at his departure.

"Mother's going to go to Dublin with Fenton, then?" Ella inquired.

Wade nodded. "Yes, and it actually might work in our favor that she does. If she distracts him with the Season going on there, then we might have a chance to beat this blockade he's imposed on the rivers. The Trim is guarded at all the ferry points, but as I told Daniel, Mrs. Fitz, there are other ways…"

"What can I do?" Grace interjected. "How can I help the Sons?"

"You can't." Ella said firmly.

"Yes…you can…" Wade said, as if he had just remembered something. "You have a playdate tomorrow, if I'm not mistaken."

Grace heaved a frustrated sigh. "I won't sit foot in that house."

"I take it that the girl's father is one of Fenton's new associates. Find out his name if you can, and where they're from and how many men there are under his command."

"You're using her as a _spy_!" Ella snapped. "No, absolutely not. When Mother is gone to Dublin, I'm responsible for her and I say-"

"She was invited, Ella. She's clever enough not to say anything. And it's information I'm seeking, that's all…there's no need for her to do anything."

"She is a little girl!"

"I'll do it!" Grace interjected. "I'll ask her lots of questions about her home and family and her father…and I'll be good as gold and pretend that I love Lord Fenton. I can do it."

"I know you can, love," Wade squeezed her shoulder. "And if you find out something that'll help us, you can tell Daniel…he'll get the message to the right people. But say nothing to Mother. She wouldn't like it if you knew what was afoot…"

"I don't either," Ella piped up.

"Mrs. Fitz?" he addressed the housekeeper, still tending her tatting. "You've been near a second mother to us these past ten years. What is your feeling?"

She rose slowly, then faced them squarely. "I think that Miss Grace is certainly old enough to understand. And herself will not be hearin' it from my lips." Mrs. Fitz sent Grace a fleeting smile, then looked at Wade. "You take care of yourself me young lad. You're too precious to us all for ill to befall ye…your Mother in particular, though she doesn't say it as often as I'd like you to hear it out of her. She loves you very much, as we all do…."

Wade smiled, then spoke to Grace again, smacking his forehead as he did so. "I ought to be whipped, thrashed, thrown in the stocks."

"Why?"

"Your birthday. It's tomorrow and I didn't buy you a thing-"

"I don't care," Grace said emphatically. "You're the only present I want."

"Sure and that's sweet, Sis, but I need to do better than that. I imagine Mother has all sorts of surprises though, before she's set to depart."

Ella made a disgusted sound. "She'll wait until we've eaten and had several toasts before she gifts us with that bit of information. And then Paddy will be gone too, when Fenton is…"

"Fenton could be here tonight, couldn't he?" Grace said worriedly, "If Paddy's back?"

"I think his business takes him elsewhere tonight," Wade replied softly, "…else Grace's new friend would have been accompanied by her father rather than her governess. If I only knew their plans…if I could only prevent…"

"What?" Ella pressed.

Wade's eyes turned stony. "The inevitable bloodshed that I fear is yet to come."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **Two chapters in one week - that is quite the accomplishment!

I've been missing Rhett and Scarlett, so we catch up with them in this chapter; the twins will be back in action in Chapter 7. ;) I hope you are liking the story! Let me know by clicking that little button that says "review" and commenting, if you are so inclined...

Joannaroo, your reviews were extremely helpful - I hope that I've answered some of your concerns in this chapter. Areadergirl, ElizabethAnneSoph, NiraJean, CCGWTW, and everybody else, you are so kind! Thank you, thank you for your comments!

* * *

><p><strong>6<strong>

The journey to Dublin had taken a day and a half with only one respite, and Scarlett felt exhausted and road weary as she stepped down from her carriage beside Richard, or as he was known to all but his most intimate friends, Lord Fenton. Her maid, Paula, followed them several lengths behind, and with her head down, as Fenton expected.

"The dregs are out today, my dear. Best stay close." Fenton offered her his arm.

"The dregs?" she inquired, confused.

"Those people, there, you see?"

Indeed, a line had formed at the main gate leading up to the Viceroy's grand residence…but she would hardly term any of the people as _dregs_. Hardly! Why, they look downright elegant here, compared to the folks up at Ballyhara!

Fenton was too busy scanning the line of carriages, which were passing through the gate while the uniformed guards held back those who did not possess an invitation. Attendance for this particular party, Fenton had said earlier, had already been capped. Tapping Scarlett's arm, he began walking up the expansive cobblestone avenue to the front of the line, where two of Queen Victoria's uniformed redcoats were guarding the door, looking ready to intervene if any unsavory character made it to the receiving line without an invitation. The Viceroy's civilian staff wore red too, although they blended well with their military counterparts.

Fenton leaned down and whispered in her ear, "There are a few that we are forced to acknowledge. Politics, you see, my dear."

Scarlett feigned polite interest, although in truth, she cared very little about meeting Fenton's friends. She was worried sick over Wade, even though he was surely safely back in England by now. And Ella of course, who was responsible generally, but quite without sense when it came to Paddy Moynihan, who to her surprise and chagrin, had not been included in their traveling party. When she had inquired to Fenton as to Paddy's whereabouts, he had merely shrugged and said, "The fewer Irish along, the better." Again, that chill had run down her spine. Perhaps he knew about Wade, about Colum…perhaps he even suspected her.

And then there was Grace, who she had left on the very worst of terms. Never in her life had Grace taken the notion of refusing to speak to her - her own mother! Scarlett had pleaded and threatened and groveled and even offered to cancel the trip. Finally though, as she had been preparing to leave, Grace had let slip an "I love you, Mother." But it was icy, at best. She couldn't very well break it off with Richard, though! Not now, not with so much afoot-

"Scarlett? You seem quite distracted, my dear."

She shook her head quickly. "I'm quite well…I was just admiring the…castle."

That amused him. "This is hardly a castle, my sweet. Fenton Hall, my ancestral home in Suffolk, puts this hovel to absolute shame. As are all things Irish, it is a mere imitation, dearest. Come, come. I must greet someone."

Again he scanned the receiving line from his perch atop the stairs, her at his side, and watched the guests like a hawk picking out its prey.

When a particular carriage halted, he said, "Aha." He seemed to force a smile then before he gave her arm a squeeze and led her toward the portly, kindly looking gentleman who descended from it.

The gentleman smiled and said: "My Lord. Good to see you. Madam, I don't believe that I've had the honor-"

"Sir John Morland, this is Mrs. O'Hara down from Ballyhara."

Morland's brow furrowed and Scarlett thought that he looked a bit discomfited. "I take it that you have property there, Fenton?"

Fenton smiled. "I oversee the district as a favor to Father. I let out property as necessary, but spend a far greater amount of time hunting down rebels. Sir John is a barrister in his spare time, Scarlett…the rest of the year he is buried in the countryside with his champion racers."

"Aye, I am that," Moreland smiled. "We hunt tomorrow, I understand?"

Fenton nodded. "We do. Father wishes to hunt the fox, although I'd have much preferred to bring in a boar."

"Dangerous sport, that," Moreland removed a handkerchief from his front pocket and wiped the perspiration off his gleaming forehead. "Mrs. O'Hara, will you ride tomorrow?"

Scarlett was uncertain how best to answer him. She had accompanied Fenton on two previous hunts, but at his instruction, she had mounted and then remained with many of the other ladies at the finish rather than risk her neck on the hilly Irish terrain.

"She will ride," Fenton answered for her. "If I leave her unattended, you see, Sir John, twill only invite attack."

Moreland laughed, although Scarlett didn't understand his meaning at first, finally realizing that Fenton was giving her a strange sort of complement…or a criticism.

"Are they all wanting to be seen today?" Fenton inquired flippantly, motioning towards the still growing throng.

"Ah, yes…they are hungry, you see. Even the more prosperous landowners are feeling the effects of your new embargo, My Lord. They cannot buy food when your men hold their ships at ports-"

"You forget, Sir John, that many of those detained ships have been found carrying contraband items. Guns, knives, the like. Poisons. All hidden up in Bibles."

Scarlett's heart was in her throat. She thought of Colum, with his hollowed out Bible and the revolver hidden inside. Surely Fenton didn't know about that.

"Nevertheless, My Lord, I do intend to speak to your Father about buying provisions for my tenants. Many of them are children, completely innocent of any wrongdoing and they are suffering, sir."

Fenton looked amused. "Living in London, Sir John, as you do for nine months out of the year, you're doubtless unaccustomed to their bellyaching. The charities in London, I hear, drain the gentry dry for the maintenance of the urban poor - not that -" he added hastily, "I would deny help to any honest _Englishman_. But do spare a thought for us who value our bucolic existence. Take Scarlett here, for instance. She came to Ireland from America for peace and tranquility. Rest. To her, this unpleasantness is an unwanted reminder of that which we both fervently wish to avoid."

"You mean, I presume, the American war, sir?" Moreland addressed Fenton, who looked at Scarlett as if he expected her to say something.

She was silent still, unwilling to say anything which might in any way incriminate Wade. She was confident of Fenton's feelings for her …but not so much that she would risk saying anything stupid.

"Among other things, isn't that right, darling?" Fenton squeezed Scarlett's shoulder and winked at her. Of course he meant Rhett. Naturally, she had told him of the husband that had abandoned her fairly early on in their association. He had taken the information remarkably well at the time, casually joking that under English law, a decade of abandonment was tantamount to an annulment - something which later, she found out was actually true, and so the harmless, amusing diversion had morphed into a new level of seriousness, something which Scarlett was not altogether comfortable with, but unsure of how to end. And he was so charming, so mysterious and powerful…and dangerous. She had not been so swayed by a man since…well Rhett, really. And Fenton was like Rhett…in more ways than one -

"At least with this Little Season here you have something to distract you. An excellent excuse to be doing other things, more diverting than hunting down rebels, eh Fenton?"

Glancing at Fenton and doing the best she could to live up to his expectations for her behavior, Scarlett inwardly grimaced. She could imagine the picture they made, her with her American voice and Irish features and no title to her name, with Richard, a golden-haired sun god who boasted dramatic good looks and more money and social status than anyone in Ireland. In the restricted society of Dublin, they would never have even been introduced. And still, Scarlett thought smugly in spite of herself, the ladies are lining up to accost him - but none of them outshine me, for all their money and their titles.

She then proceeded to unleash her charm on Sir John, the same charm that had solidified her as the belle of five counties, not to mention her position as Fenton's companion - and it was his companion she was known as, _not_ his mistress - within the whirl of the _ton_ of both London and Dublin. As she thought of it, she was just keeping in practice.

Finally, Fenton interrupted their rather pleasant conversation about the upcoming Irish Derby and said that he had better say hello to some of the other guests.

"It was a pleasure chatting, Fenton. As always." With a pointed look at Scarlett, Moreland bowed deeply, then took his leave, joining up with a stout matron who could only be his wife and entering through the great oaken door after Sir John had pulled an invitation from the inside of his jacket and presented it to the red-liveried servant.

"Who was he?" Scarlett asked as Fenton swore underneath his breath.

Fenton shrugged. "No one of much consequence. A local high stickler, nothing more." He then beckoned imperiously at Moreland's footman and instructing his coachman to draw his landau to the curb and then invite Sir John and Lady Elizabeth to sup privately with himself and with Mrs. O'Hara.

The footman nodded warily and promised to deliver the message. He strolled on to the next stationary carriage then, Scarlett still on his arm. He greeted the elderly woman who emerged with a kiss on the hand. "This is Lady Parnell, Scarlett. Madam, allow me to introduce Mrs. O'Hara of Ballyhara. Another American and certainly a kindred spirit."

When Scarlett looked her surprise, Lady Parnell airily waved.

"Tut, tut, Fenton. I've not been back in years. I'm English now, just as you. Although, have I ever told you that my father was one of President Washington's bodyguards, eh?"

Scarlett knew that Fenton was attempting to appear interested. "No, Madam. But did you hear me, Madam...? This is Mrs. O'Hara. She too, is American."

Scarlett smiled, "Yes, I'm from Georgia."

She looked disgusted. "Georgia. So you're one of those _Confederates_." She flicked her fingers in her left hand. "I suppose this is Ireland, after all. They'll let anyone in."

Scarlett made no reply, intentionally. She wasn't going to be provoked. Not here…no matter how grave an insult.

Lady Parnell wasn't done though. "My third son, Charlie. Horrid boy. He _loves_ the Irish. Wants to allow them to rule themselves. I told him, look what happened back home, Charlie. Look at the South. Wanted to rule themselves and look where it got them. But I'm sure that Mrs. _O'Hara_ knows all about that. She probably agrees with my son."

Scarlett was drinking in her every word, and that statement sounded suspiciously like an accusation. So this was Charles Parnell's mother. The MP Wade was going to meet…was this deliberate on Fenton's part? Hoping that she would slip up, perhaps, and admit that Wade and Parnell were acquaintances. My God, she thought, he knows!

But Fenton was smiling, a tad patronizingly.

"Never, Lady Parnell. Why, I intend to make Mrs. O'Hara my bride before year's end. And naturally, what is mine is mine."

The old lady's own smirk became more intent. "What's that, English?"

His voice, sultry and deeply stirring, mesmerizing in its effect, replied, "If it pleases me, it will be as I say."

_God help not only Wade…but me as well. _

**. . . .**

_Roses are red, violets are blue_, read the card on a glass of flowers the maid, Kitty, had left on the breakfast table of Rhett's hotel room for his return. _I wish you were here and Mrs. Fletcher does too. Love, the pea missing from the pod, Cat_.

He inwardly grimaced. His princess was going to spend the first birthday of her young life unhappy, and it was all his fault. Damn Fenton for getting him into this operation in the first place! He had agreed to it in the beginning for the adventure, the chance to feel young again, but he had made it very clear to his new business partner that Cat's welfare and wellbeing were his first priority. And missing her tenth birthday was hardly a good start.

That and, the work he was doing was unfulfilling at best, downright disturbing at worst. There were hungry people waiting for supplies, foodstuffs and medicine, and being turned away at port. He had arrested two stowaways, both underage and in all likelihood, not underground agents of terror. But still, he was obliged to hold the ships, their crews and cargo and subject them to search. He had found a total of ten unregistered weapons, three Sons of Erin propaganda pamphlets, and one suspicious looking list of addresses and names, folded carefully into a Bible.

Even still, he did not perceive a threat of the magnitude Fenton had described, and frankly, he wondered if there was even a rebellion underfoot at all - if there was, he had to give the Irish credit for their secrecy. The Charlestonians would have surely shot someone by now.

He put down the card from Cat and felt his eyes well up with emotion. Ten joyous years with Cat had meant ten heartbreaking years without Scarlett. He had spent the past decade putting his life to rights, fulfilling his moral and social obligations, re-establishing a place for himself as he established a place for his precious Cat in the eyes of those who mattered in London. And Fenton, like or loathe the man, mattered in London…and when he had come to Rhett for help, he had been only too glad to do so; after all, he was a former blockade runner and lifelong adventurer and seeker of thrill.

And he had grown slightly bored with his solitary existence in his new role as honorable gentleman. Although, the _solitary_ part he had no desire to change - he lived his life for Cat and Cat alone. Not one pretty face in London's _ton_ stirred even the remotest interest in him. Not even the basest curiosity…Unfortunately for Rhett, however, becoming known as the grieving widower with a hardened heart toward the fairer sex had only increased the aspirations of many of the ladies. It had been Fenton who, in the middle of a ballroom, had pulled him aside and whispered that Rhett had been deemed positively Byronic in his looks and temperament, something which had amused him greatly at the time, although he could see a shred of truth in the description. But still, he was increasingly self-aware now that many young ladies viewed him as a challenge, and he took a great care to keep himself free of social snares that could either entrap him or reflect poorly upon Cat.

Even those select and highly paid ladies with whom he occasionally enjoyed a discreet dalliance with weren't above hatching schemes…nor tipping off the newspapers- London's Society pages, he had realized fairly quickly upon his arrival in the city - were absolutely brutal when it came to airing out dirty laundry of the elite. A stark contrast to Charleston, he had observed, where secrets were guarded to the death and where indiscretions lead to being blotted out of the family Bible…

Reduced to the redundant, Rhett's mind returned to the matter he had returned to the hotel room to mull over a glass of brandy. He glanced over at the intercepted list. How ironic that his father should cross his mind, that and the scandal which had gotten him disinherited and blackguarded forever in the minds of Charleston's society. And how appropriate that he wasn't engaged on the wrong side this time; no, he had been recruited by Queen Victoria's nephew - or was it cousin? He could never recall the relation - to wit the Irish rebel group, the Sons of Erin. The request was a deliberate and meaningful vote of confidence, and a declaration that he had reached the very pinnacle of popularity at Court. He'd recruited the Honorable Sir John Moreland, an Anglo-Irish landowner and barrister, to help. Rhett knew Moreland well, had for years, through their connection to Sally Brewton, his childhood friend from Charleston; Sally, Rhett, and Moreland all shared a mutual interest in champion horseracing, and he had hoped to have his at least his preliminary investigation finished for Lord Fenton before the Irish Derby, in a month's time. Moreland was already there, as it was…under the guise of "investigating" one of their so-called leads; although, Rhett knew that his old friend was enjoying fox hunting season rather than pursuing any leads on the case. But the Little Season, as they called it, would only last the month; when it was finished he would take Cat up to Dublin and around the country for some restful travel…perhaps they would even attempt to locate some of the O'Hara relatives…

Suddenly, Rhett's eyes lit as he glanced down at the list. The entries were nonsensical, but perhaps there was more than what he had first thought.

ARAHYLLAB OT SNUG

What he had originally written off as Gaelic was something else entirely. It was a trick straight from the Confederate Army, and not a very smart one, particularly not when he rewrote the message, backwards: GUNS TO BALLYHARA

Ballyhara.

Where was Ballyhara?

He certainly had a feeling that if he found Ballyhara, he would find his nest of rebels. And then, with any luck, his work would be finished.


	7. Chapter 7

**7**

Grace chafed and swore, but forced herself to be polite to Mrs. Fletcher or whatever her name was, the English governess to that English girl staying in the house of the enemy. Forget that, she blasted internally, that _girl_ is the enemy. She had risen at dawn in order to bathe and allow Mrs. Fitz to comb out her long hair and dress her in her "nice" dress. Paddy had greeted her a little after seven, and although she had seen Ella at the breakfast table, she knew full well that her sister had been seized by a sudden desire to "go look at the horses" around six.

She kept her eyes peeled as she was escorted into the parlor for anything that might be of use to Wade and the Sons, but detected nothing out of the ordinary. She paused at the portrait of Fenton himself in the foyer, mounted on a magnificent bay stallion, a muffler wrapped underneath his chin and his long cape billowing behind him.

"He thinks he is the king," she said aloud.

"I believe that he does," a second voice replied to her statement.

Grace jumped, having heard no door opening nor footsteps. She turned quickly, to find _that_ girl standing at her back, calmly examining the same portrait she was. Lord and his angels, she was dressed to kill. Her freshly ironed pale pink dress was cinched at the waist with an abundant bow and her black hair fell down her back in glorious waves. But she's the enemy, Grace reminded herself, and I must find out why she's here, for Wade. But why in Heaven's name did she not carry a comb or fresh handkerchief like Ella? Why was she skin-and-bones while the other girl was slim and lovely? But surely she could look that nice if she wanted to, she just didn't care to. Who does she think she is, the Princess of Wales?

Filled with a rush of energy, she was at the other's side. "Thank you for inviting me." Her voice came out phony. A pale imitation of her mother's.

The other girl looked at her and smiled. "You're very welcome. I'm pleased that you could come on such short notice."

Above her bright eyes were dark crescent eyebrows, which struck Grace as familiar. She had something similar above her own eyes.

"Are you having a pleasant trip?" she sat down on Lord Fenton's settee and crossed her legs, then realized that ladies crossed their legs at the ankles and that the other girl would think her a heathen. Enemy or not, she didn't want her to think of The O'Hara's daughter as a heathen.

"To be quite honest, no," she said sadly. "I miss my Daddy very much, and I am quite alone here."

"I'm sorry," Grace said, not really feeling that sorry for the girl, but thinking of Wade and Cousin Colum and how much she missed them. "What does your Daddy do?" There, an important question, but one which could be interpreted as simple politeness; she wished that Wade could see her stealth.

"He is involved in all manner of business interests. Most of the time, he is contacted by various people who need this or that secured through borders or over the high seas. He's very clever at that sort of thing, you see." The girl was clearly devoted to her father, and quite willing to talk of his exploits…"But we're always gone somewhere. At least, normally I'm with him aboard one of his ships. As you can see, I'm here alone at the moment."

"So, that's why your skin is so dark!" God's nightgown, that was rude!

But the other girl seemed to think it hilarious. "Yes. Brown as a biscuit, Papa says. But he couldn't leave me behind while he's gone for weeks or months at a time. We went to Buenos Aires to fetch some diamonds for the Queen's Jubilee tiara. It was the most beautiful place I've ever been. Well, not so much as the Bahamas…the Bahamas are still my favorite set of islands…"

"The Bahamas?"

"Yes. We have a house in Nassau. Julian, he was my Daddy's ward, but now he isn't because, well, he's all grown up. Anyhow, Julian lives in Nassau and looks out for our interests there and in America. Although Daddy says he spends most of his time in the bad houses…" the English girl laughed loudly. "I'm horrible, truly…boring you with talk of complete strangers when I should have asked of your family. I hope you'll forgive me. I have no friends here and I would enjoy one very much if you're not too offended by my never ceasing mouth."

Grace grinned in spite of herself. "Mrs. Fitz says the same thing about me."

"Mrs. Fletcher decided it wasn't worth the effort to correct me any longer. She does so wish me to be a lady and I'm afraid I'm nothing but a disappointment."

She was nice, so nice in fact that Grace wondered how she could ever be the child of one of those brutal redcoats who made her people live in such fear.

"My mother would kill for me to turn out like you. What with your gowns and your-"

"Tan?" the girl grinned.

"Well, no, she wouldn't like that but…" Grace laughed and in that moment, knew that they were friends, despite everything.

"I'm Cat," Cat stuck out her hand and shook Grace's with firmness. "Cat Butler."

"Is Cat short for something?"

"Katherine. My mother's name. My mother was Irish, coincidentally. Well, not by birth…she was born in America. But my grandfather was an immigrant, Daddy said."

"So that's why you speak like an American!" Grace realized aloud. "Your mother is American too."

"Well, she was. She died when I was born, sadly. My sister too."

"That's sad. And you have no other family?"

She seemed relieved that Grace did not dwell on the subject of her dead mother overly long. "Not really. Julian is like family. My grandmother lived with us for a time, then had to return to Charleston but got sick on the voyage back and died shortly after. I have an aunt and uncle and some cousins there, in Charleston, but I've only met my Aunt Rosemary once."

"So you've never been back?"

"To America? No. I think that it would make Daddy sad to go back."

"Oh," Grace answered. "I've been twice. But I was littler then, and don't remember much."

"Where are your people from?"

"Georgia. And my Pa was from Charleston, too. Well, born there. I was born in Atlanta."

"Where is your father now?" Cat asked politely.

"I haven't a clue. Never met the man and I'm not sure I'd want to meet him, even if he were standing right next to me. He left us, after I was born."

"That's very sad indeed," Cat responded quietly.

Something shot through Grace like a wave of electricity. No, no…it was impossible. But she had to check.

"What is your real name?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well, are you Cat or Katherine or what?"

Cat laughed. "My real name, as you say, is Katie Scarlett Butler. But as I told you, barring Mrs. Fletcher and my friends at court, everyone calls me Cat. So I hope you will too, Grace."

"Butler, you said?"

"Yes," Cat looked confused. "Of the Charleston Butlers, as I said."

"And what's your Daddy's name?" Grace asked, wanting to know everything there was to know about the other girl before she said anything stupid.

"Rhett Butler." Cat was moving her head from side to side. "Are you quite alright, Grace? You've gone rather pale."

"Do you know your mother's name?" Grace heard the sound of shakiness in her voice. "Did your Daddy tell you?"

"Of course he did; it's not as though it's a grand secret. My mother's name was Scarlett. Scarlett O'Hara, was her maiden name. And my sister who died was named Bonnie. Well, Eugenia Victoria, but they called her Bonnie for the Bonnie Blue flag."

Grace knew that her mouth was hanging open. She tried to conjure up a grin to banish the heaviness, but none would come. She managed to stammer, "And you said that your mother was _dead_?"

"Yes," Cat looked bewildered. "She died when I was born…"

She searched her face for fraud. Surely she was lying. Surely this was just one of Fenton's tricks - perhaps the redcoats would appear at the top of the stairs, guns blazing and get her - but there was no lie in Cat's eyes, merely confusion.

"It's a coincidence then," Grace said carefully. "My mother's name is O'Hara. Well, there are lots of O'Hara's here. But they call my mother The O'Hara."

"Oh?"

"It's a sort of respectful term for head of the family. It's just a bit unusual that it's been given to a woman."

"I wonder if your O'Hara's are _my_ O'Hara's as well?" Cat inquired, "Perhaps we're cousins or something."

"I don't know." Grace said thoughtfully. "I'll have to think about that." But surely not…surely?

"I hope we are, Grace. You'll have to tell me about your family now. You don't know your father, you said, so…you and your mother live alone?"

Something in her tone had changed. She was thinking the same thing then! And Grace hadn't even said her mother's first name yet. Cat's eyes were almost narrowing with suspicion though, so Grace decided to respond truthfully.

"I have a brother, Wade Hampton. He's twenty-six and a lawyer." There, not too much detail, but not too evasive. "And a sister, Ella. She's twenty-one and not married."

"But interested in the stableman?"

"Yes. Paddy. You remembered."

"I did. Keep in mind the relative smallness of this, what do you call it, County?" At Grace's affirmative nod, Cat continued, "I've not met very many people, so those I have met have stuck in my mind…all the little details." Again, she paused. There was a heavy silence between them. "My birthday was yesterday. Would you like a piece of cake?"

Grace could feel her mouth opening again. "Your birthday?"

"Yes. Would you like some cake?" It was not a trick question.

"My birthday was yesterday." Grace blurted out. "And my mother's name is Scarlett. Katie Scarlett O'Hara. She was born in Clayton County, Georgia and was married to my Pa, Rhett Butler, who abandoned us when I was born. My name is Melanie Grace Butler, but I go by O'Hara. I was one of a set of twins. Mother said that my sister died when we were born."

Oh dear God, what had she done?

Cat was visibly trembling. "That's not possible."

Grace could feel her gaze focus on her face, just as her own eyes were drinking in the reflection opposite her. The forehead, which suggested something noble. Long polished hair of deepest ebony. Large blue-green eyes that seemed to come from the sockets of some jungle cat. Cat. Cat. Cat was her sister, her twin.

And Cat, standing opposite her, was realizing the same thing.

**. . . .**

Rhett didn't take any chances. The next morning, he spoke to his adjutants and Lord Fenton's man, Herbert, making it plain that their continued success rested upon them resisting the temptation to divulge details of his insights of the last week. He had tracked down Ballyhara by way of a map of Adamstown he had been studying before they had set sail from England, and had been amused to find that it was an expansive manor house and property adjacent to Fenton's, of all people. The smug bastard would be livid to know that gunrunning was occurring right under his nose.

Later, he met with the three lieutenants set to oversee the blockade operations while he returned to Adamstown to investigate the Ballyhara lead.

Although he had modified the manner of his warning, one of the lieutenants muttered, "It's Wade Hamilton behind it, you mark me."

"Wade Hamilton?"

"Aye sir. Was in my regiment for two years. American by birth, and quite a queer bird. Lord Fenton's protégée for a time, sir."

"I take it he was discharged then, from the army?"

"Bloody well disappeared after his two years. And would have been a Captain with his connections. Strange indeed, sir. But we've heard all kinds of rumors that he's been in and out of London, talking to all the wrong people. Of course sir, they could be just rumors."

"Irish Home Rule. Thinking that they're the bloody Yanks! Or what was it, Mr. Butler, that the rebels called themselves?"

"Confederates," the other reminded his companion. "You were never one, were you Mr. Butler?"

Rhett muttered. "Blockader. For profit only."

It was strange, and damned coincidental. So Wade had been in London recently, eh? He didn't mention his connection to Wade Hamilton to them.

If Wade was involved - and he didn't know that he was - he didn't yet know how. He caught himself wondering what seeing his stepson again would feel like…and introducing him to Cat…and how he might react, crossing his path again.

Then again, he remembered himself…if Wade was involved, perhaps it would be for the better if they did not cross paths. For how could he send Scarlett's son to the gallows…or _not_…and risk his own neck.


End file.
